“I am very fond of Isobel,” said the young barrister quietly. “We were brought up as children together. I was a few years her senior. I used to carry her about as a little child.”
Mary looked at him again, and for a second time a faint flush dyed her fair cheek.
“Will you think it very impertinent of me, Mr Farquhar, if I suggest that you were very much in love with your pretty cousin?”
Farquhar shook his head. “I don’t deny it for a moment. I was very much in love with Isobel. I always wanted her for my wife, but the consideration of ways and means prevented. When I did ask her, I learned that she had accepted your brother—”
“And you are still in love with her?” questioned Mary, a little eagerly.
“It is no use being in love with a girl who is betrothed to another man. It is one of those vain dreams that a sensible man dismisses. Isobel Clandon is to me now a dear cousin, a good friend.” Somehow, Lady Mary looked relieved. She spoke lightly.
“You will get over it, and one day you will marry. And when you are Lord Chancellor, your wife will be the first female subject in the kingdom.”
“And Isobel will be the wife of an Ambassador,” said Farquhar. “We shall run each other close, shall we not?”
Mary laughed. “Oh, Guy will never have stamina enough to become an Ambassador. When he comes into dear old Aunt Henrietta’s money, he will throw it all over, and lead his pleasant old idle life. I know Guy too well.”
“Don’t you think Isobel will put grit into him?”