“Can they be already really engaged?” he said to himself. “I could almost find it in my heart to wish they were, to get rid of all this! How unbearable it is—how horribly I am, and must be, misunderstood, even by this girl!”
And as he escorted Mary across the room, and, with a formal bow, deposited her in her old corner beside Mrs Greville, he made no effort to hide his gloom and annoyance. For the moment a species of recklessness seemed to have taken possession of him; he felt as if he cared little what was said or thought of him.
“Even Alys,” he thought to himself, “when, or if, she comes to hear of my attempt at interference, will find no words hard enough for me. Why can’t a man start clear in life, I wonder, without being weighted with the follies of those before him?”
Mrs Greville was all excitement and curiosity.
“My goodness, Mary,” she exclaimed, “wonders will never cease! Lilias’s conquest is nothing to yours. Mr Cheviott of Romary himself! You are very cunning, you naughty child; you never even told me you knew him.”
“I hardly do know him. I would not have danced with him if he had not asked me so suddenly that I had not presence of mind enough to refuse,” explained Mary.
“And why should you have refused? Of course, as I say, you have made a conquest. Why should you be ashamed of it?” said Mrs Greville.
“It is not that, it is nothing of the kind, I assure you, Mrs Greville,” said Mary, deeply annoyed. “Dear Mrs Greville,” she went on, beseechingly, “I do beg you not to say any more about it. There is Lilias coming, please don’t say anything about it.”
Mrs Greville saw she was in earnest, and gave in. “But you are the strangest girl I ever came across,” she added, with a tone of good-natured annoyance.
Then Lilias came up, on Captain Beverley’s arm, and Mrs Greville’s attention was distracted.