'No, indeed, dear. I shall begin now to hope that by-and-by some one more worthy of her may have a chance; and I shall yet live to see my Lilian's children about me.—And you too will be thinking of getting married presently, dear?' with what I fancied was an inquiring glance.
I murmured something to the effect that perhaps my time would come; even then shrinking a little nervously from entering into details.
'Of course it will, dear; and Lilian's too. Already there is Mr Wyatt making all sorts of excuses for finding his way to the cottage. A nice gentleman; isn't he, dear—shews what brings him so plain too; doesn't he?'
Yes, he did shew it plainly; no doubt of that. If he did not already love Lilian, he was on the very verge of it. But that was not at all in accordance with my hopes.
'You forget Mr Wentworth,' I put in smilingly. She looked up into my face for a moment; then bent over her knitting again, as I went on: 'I think you must have guessed what brings him so often down here now?'
'Yes, Mary; yes, I have, dear.'
'And so have I; but I suppose it's early days for talking of it yet.'
'Very well, dear; you know best about that, of course. I will only say that Robert Wentworth is a great favourite of mine.'
'That is because he is so good, auntie,' said Lilian, who had caught the last words as she entered the room. 'He is the very best and kindest friend we have known.'
'The very best, dearie?' I asked.