'I don't know, uncle; you are so mysterious, and I am in such a twitter, that I don't know what to do. Why is Mr. Gresham coming here—that is, the squire?'
'Because I have business with him about the Scatcherd property. You know that he owed Sir Louis money. But don't go out, Mary. I want you to be in the way if I should have to call for you. You can stay in the drawing-room, can't you?'
'Oh, yes, uncle; or here.'
'No, dearest; go into the drawing-room.' Mary obediently did as she was bid; and there she sat, for the next three hours, wondering, wondering, wondering. During the greater part of that time, however, she well knew that Mr. Gresham, senior, and Mr. Gresham, junior, were both with her uncle, below.
At eleven o'clock the doctor's visitors came. He had expected them somewhat earlier, and was beginning to become fidgety. He had so much on his hands that he could not sit still for a moment till he had, at any rate, commenced it. The expected footsteps were at last heard on the gravel-path, and a moment or two afterwards Janet ushered the father and son into the room.
The squire did not look very well. He was worn and sorrowful, and rather pale. The death of his young creditor might be supposed to have given him some relief from his more pressing fares, but the necessity of yielding to Frank's wishes had almost more than balanced this. When a man has daily to reflect that he is poorer than he was the day before, he soon becomes worn and sorrowful.
But Frank was well; both in health and spirits. He also felt as Mary did, that the day was to bring forth something which should end his present troubles; and he could not but be happy to think that he could now tell Dr. Thorne that his father's consent to his marriage had been given.
The doctor shook hands with them both, and then they sat down. They were all rather constrained in their manner; and at first it seemed that nothing but little speeches of compliment were to be made. At last, the squire remarked that Frank had been talking to him about Miss Thorne.
'About Mary?' said the doctor.
'Yes; about Mary,' said the squire, correcting himself. It was quite unnecessary that he should use so cold a name as the other, now that he had agreed to the match.
'Well!' said Dr. Thorne.
'I suppose it must be so, doctor. He has set his heart upon it, and, God knows, I have nothing to say against her—against her personally. No one could say a word against her. She is a sweet, good girl, excellently brought up; and, as for myself, I
