"You are mistaken; I saw her to-night."
"Though for the first time in several weeks. I saw Mary this evening also, and found her greatly distressed at your neglect and coldness."
"She will complain of it no more."
"Why?" quickly asked the sister.
"Because she no longer has a right to complain."
"Lawrence! What do you mean?"
"I don't know, Mary, that I ever gave you authority to interrogate me in regard to my actions."
"Though, by virtue of the love I bear you as your sister, I claim the right to do so in the present case." Mary spoke firmly. "It is no light thing, Lawrence," she continued, "to trifle with a young heart. Mary did not seek you. It was you that sought her; you that—"
"Mary," said the young man, interrupting her, "though I deny your right to question me in regard to my conduct, I will explain to you, although I have little hope of making you hear reason. My love for Mary Lee was a mere boyish fancy. She was bright and beautiful to my inexperienced eyes; and, in a moment of weakness, I committed the folly of asking her hand in marriage. Our father was justly displeased at this; and no very long time passed before I saw clearly enough that I had done wrong, that a marriage with her would mar all my worldly prospects."
"How?" inquired Mary.