IX
The minister lived in a small frame house near the church. A widow woman of certain age and uncertain temper kept his house and provided his ascetic fare. It was she who opened the door to Mary, with the suspicious glance due to the visitor's youth and good looks. Proclaiming that Mr. Robertson was busy writing his sermon, she nevertheless consented to knock at his study door, and after a moment Mary was admitted. Hilary rose from his desk to receive her, gave her hand a quick nervous clasp, and indicated a chair facing the windows, the only easy-chair in the bare room. For himself he was impatient of comfort. He sat down again before his desk and waited for Mary to speak, but seeing that she looked pale and troubled and hesitated, he began with an effort to question her.
"What is it, Mary? You have something to tell me? How can I help you?"
She looked earnestly at him, her face was more youthful in its expression of appeal and confidence.
"You're the only person I can speak to.... Nobody else understands," she murmured. "Every one thinks I am wrong."
"How, wrong?"
"My mother is so unhappy, and she makes me unhappy.... Do you think I'm wrong, to marry against her wish?"