“Have you answered your brother yet?” said Mary, the morning after Arthur's letter had been received. “I am awfully anxious to see him.”
“No, not yet; I wish to ask you something first. Arthur says he will come down as soon as he gets my reply. And—I should like Captain Horton to come with him.”
“They are strangers to each other, I believe,” said Mary coldly.
“Yes, I know, but my idea was to send a note to Captain Horton at the same time, asking him to call on Arthur at his rooms, and arrange to come down with him. But I must ask your consent first.”
“Why my consent? Your brother is coming at your invitation, and I suppose you have the same right you exercise in his case to ask anyone you like without my permission. You may if you think proper invite all the people you have ever met in London, and tell them to bring their relations and friends with them. I am not the proprietor of Sidmouth.”
“But, Mary, the cases are so different. You know Captain Horton, and though he is my friend, and I consider myself greatly in his debt—” The other laughed scornfully.
“Still, I should not think of asking him to come unless you were willing to meet him.”
“My knowing him makes no difference. I happen to be perfectly indifferent, and care as little whether he comes or not as if he were an absolute stranger. Less, in fact, for your brother is a stranger to me, and I am anxious to meet him.”
Fan reflected a little, then, with a smiling look and pleading tone, she said:
“If you are really quite indifferent about it, Mary, you will not refuse to let me couple your name with mine when I ask him to come down. That would be nothing more than common politeness, I think.”