“No, not the least, thank you. But—but—in short, I must go to my work. I ought to apologize, indeed, for having stayed so long.”
“Oh, you have not been here more than twenty minutes. Pray stay, and see mamma; she must be in directly.”
“Thank you; you are very kind. I should like it very much, but indeed I cannot.”
Mary felt that it would be no kindness to press it further, and so rose herself, and held out her hand. Grey took it, and it is not quite certain to this day whether he did not press it in that farewell shake more than was absolutely necessary. If he did, we may be quite sure that he administered exemplary punishment to himself afterwards for so doing. He would gladly have left now, but his over-sensitive conscience forbade it. He had forgotten his office, he thought, hitherto, but there was time yet not to be altogether false to it. So he looked grave and shy again, and said,
“You will not be offended with me, Miss Porter, if I speak to you as a clergyman?”
Mary was a little disconcerted, but answered almost immediately,—
“Oh, no. Pray say anything which you think you ought to say.”
“I am afraid there must be a great temptation in living always in beautiful rooms like this, with no one but prosperous people. Do you not think so?”
“But one cannot help it. Surely, Mr. Grey, you do not think it can be wrong?”
“No, not wrong. But it must be very trying. It must be very necessary to do something to lessen the temptation of such a life.”