“Unless what Mr. Baldwin,” said Marion innocently. “Don’t be afraid to tell me the alternative, however disagreeable. Is there any fresh trouble about our money matters?”
“Oh dear no,” replied the young man, thankful that he had not, on the impulse of the moment, wrecked all by a premature betrayal of his hardly-as-yet-to-himself-acknowledged hopes, and eager to distract her attention. “Oh dear no, don’t get anything of that sort into your head. It is true I fear some little time must pass before your affairs are thoroughly settled; but by the spring, at latest, I hope we may hit on some better arrangement.”
“By the spring,” repeated Marion, dolefully; “ah, well, it does not much matter. After all, I daresay a good deal of the dullness is in myself. But tell me, Mr. Baldwin, what were you going to say? ‘Unless,’ you began,—unless what?”
“Nothing, Miss Vere—nothing, truly,” replied Geoffrey, rather awkwardly; “it was only an idea that struck me, but at present impossible to carry out. Please don’t speak about it.”
“Very well,” answered Marion, looking rather puzzled; “I won’t ask you about it if you would rather I did not. I am afraid the truth is I am very difficult to please. I fear in my present mood I should not be happy anywhere, except—”
“Except where, Miss Vere?” said Geoffrey, lightly; but Marion looked painfully embarrassed and made no reply. A curious misgiving shot through Mr. Baldwin’s heart; but he did not persist in his inquiry, and turned it off with a jest.
“We have both our secrets, you see,” he said, laughingly; my ‘unless,’ and your ‘except.’ Well, supposing we put both aside for the present, and consider things as they are. Can nothing be done to make your stay here pleasanter, so long as it lasts?”
“Nothing,” said Marion, sadly. “Don’t trouble yourself so much about me, Mr. Baldwin; it is only a fit of low spirits. I shall be better again in a day or two. It is an immense comfort to me to grumble a little. I can’t tell you how much good it does me.”
“But you are not looking well,” he persisted, “and you know it is my duty to look after you. This life is killing you. Have you made no acquaintances here at all, Miss Vere?”
“None whatever. My aunt’s friends are all old, like herself; and somehow I don’t fancy I should get on very well with other girls, Mr. Baldwin. I have grown so dull and stupid; and from what I have seen of the Mallingford girls at church, and some few who call here with their mothers, I am sure they would not take to me, nor I to them. No, just leave me alone. I shall do very well. There is only one thing I wanted to ask you: can you ask leave for me to go to see Miss Veronica Temple? She is the only one of my friends that I remember as a child, still here, and I should so like to see her, particularly as she can’t come to see me. I spoke of it to my aunt one day, but to my surprise she got into such a rage I was glad to change the subject. Why does she dislike Miss Temple so, Mr. Baldwin?”