Alys leaned forward and put her hand over Mary’s mouth.
“No,” she said, “I won’t let you repeat that. I know what is coming, ‘I cannot under any circumstances whatever imagine myself, etc.’ No, Mary, you are not to say that. It is a sort of tempting Providence to be obstinate. Fancy now what might happen. Suppose I get much worse, Mary,—suppose that great London doctor that Laurence is going to have down to see me, says I can’t get better—that I am going to die—wouldn’t you come to Romary then, to say good-bye, Mary?”
Mary turned away her head and sighed deeply.
“I was not going to say what you thought, Alys,” she said, at length. “I was only going to say that I cannot see any probability of my ever going to you at Romary. If you ever marry, Alys—I should not say that; you are sure to marry—when you do, I shall go to see you in your own home, if you still care to have me, and if your husband has no objection.”
“But yours, Mary? What about his objections or non-objections?” said Alys.
“They will never exist, for there will never be such a person,” said Mary, calmly. “It was settled—oh, I can’t tell you how long ago, always, I think—in all our family conclaves there was never a dissentient voice on the subject—that I was to be an old maid. I am thoroughly cut out for it. Any one can see that. ‘Dans mon coeur il n’y a point d’amour’ of that kind, certainly,” she hummed, lightly.
“But, but, Mary,” said Alys, “finish the verse.”
“How do you know it?” said Mary. “It’s an old Norman or Breton song. Mother sang it when she was a girl.”
“I do know the second line, and that is all that matters,” said Alys, sagely. “Well, good-night, Mary. You are not quite as naughty as you have been, but that is the best I can say for you. However, I shall live in hope. But I am awfully dull, Mary. And how merry we were last night! It is too bad of Laurence to have gone over to Romary so late to-night, just when he might have known our—at least my spirits would need cheering. You, of course, have the getting back to your beloved people to look forward to.”
And, two mornings after this, Mary woke to find herself in her own familiar room at the Rectory. What a dream the last fortnight seemed! And what a long time ago appeared now the day of Alys Cheviott’s accident! Spring had come on fast since then. The leaves of the creeper round Mary’s window were beginning to peep in and to be visible as she lay in bed, the birds’ busy twitter and the early sunlight told that the world was waking up once more to approaching summer. How home-like and peaceful it seemed! yet Mary could not feel as delighted to be at home again as she had expected.