Mary had the sugar-basin in her hand at the moment, and a sudden tremor seemed to seize her. She set it down; but so clumsily, that half the lumps fell out. Her face had turned to a glowing crimson. Mr. Ashley noticed it.
Mrs. Ashley only noticed the sugar. "Mary, how came you to do that? Very careless, my dear."
Mary began meekly to pick up the sugar, the flush giving way to pallor. She lifted her handkerchief to her face and held it there, as if she had a cold.
"The honour comes from Cyril Dare," said Mr. Ashley.
"Cyril Dare!"
"Cyril Dare!"
In different tones of scorn, but each expressing it most fully, the repetition broke from Mrs. Ashley and Henry. Mary, on the contrary, recovered her equanimity and her countenance. She laughed out, as if she were glad.
"What did you say to him, papa?"
"I gave him my opinion only. That I thought he had mistaken my daughter, if he entertained hopes that she would listen to his suit. The question rests with you, Mary."
"Oh papa, what nonsense! rests with me! Why you know I would never have Cyril Dare."