"Be quiet, Henry. Can't you leave me in peace?"
"My dear, it is true," cried Henry, who was in one of his teasing moods. "Of course I have not kept count of your age since you were eighteen—it wouldn't be polite to do so; but my private conviction is that you are four-and-twenty this blessed summer."
"If I were four-and-thirty," answered Mary, "I wouldn't marry Sir Harry Marr. I am not obliged to marry, I suppose, am I?"
"My dear, no one said you were," said Henry, flinging a rose at her, which he took from his button-hole. "But don't you see that this brings round my argument, that you have resolved to make yourself a noble sisterly sacrifice, and stop at home with me? Don't you take to cats yet, though!"
Mary thought she was getting the worst of it, and left the room. Soon afterwards Mrs. Ashley was called out by a servant.
"Did you receive a note from William this morning, sir?" asked Henry.
"Yes," replied Mr. Ashley, taking it from his pocket. "He mentions in it that there is a report in the town that Herbert Dare is dead."
"Herbert Dare! I wonder if it's true?"
"It is to be hoped not. I fear he was not very fit to die. I am going into Helstonleigh, and shall probably hear more."
"Oh! are you going in to-day, sir? Despatch William back, will you?"