At this moment the clock on the mantel-piece struck a quarter. The sound touched some chord in Grey which made him grasp his hat again, and prepare for another attempt to get away.
“I hope you will pardon—” He pulled himself up short, in the fear lest he were going again to be false (as he deemed it) to his calling, and stood the picture of nervous discomfort.
Mary came to his relief. “I am sorry you must go, Mr. Grey,” she said; “I should have so liked to have talked to you more about Oxford. You will call again soon, I hope?”
At which last speech Grey, casting an imploring glance at her, muttered something which she could not catch, and fled from the room.
Mary stood looking dreamily out of the window for a few minutes, till the entrance of her mother roused her, and she turned to pour out a cup of tea for her.
“It is cold, mamma dear; do let me make some fresh.”
“No, thank you, dear; this will do very well,” said Mrs. Porter; and she took off her bonnet and sipped the cold tea. Mary watched her silently for a minute, and then, taking the letter she had been reading out of her pocket, said, “I have a letter from Katie, mamma.”
Mrs. Porter took the letter and read it; and, as Mary still watched, she saw a puzzled look coming over her mother's face. Mrs. Porter finished the letter, and then looked stealthily at Mary, who on her side was now busily engaged in putting up the tea-things.
“It is very embarrassing,” said Mrs. Porter.
“What, mamma?”