'If you say one word of Mary—'
So far had he got in his injunction to his sister, but further than that, in such a case, was he never destined to proceed. Mary's indignation flashed upon him, striking him dumb long before the sound of her voice reached his ears; and yet she spoke as quick as the words would come to her call, and somewhat loudly too.
'Say one word of Mary, Mr. Gresham! And why should she not say as many words of Mary as she may please? I must tell you all now, Augusta! and I must also beg you not to be silent for my sake. As far as I am concerned, tell it to whom you please. This is the second time your brother—'
'Mary, Mary,' said Frank, deprecating her loquacity.
'I beg your pardon, Mr. Gresham; you have made it necessary that I should tell your sister all. He has now twice thought it well to amuse himself by saying to me words which it was ill-natured in him to speak, and—'
'Ill-natured, Mary!'
'Ill-natured in him to speak,' continued Mary, 'and to which it would be absurd for me to listen. He probably does the same to others,' she added, being unable in heart to forget that sharpest of her wounds, that flirtation of his with Patience Oriel; 'but to me it is almost cruel. Another girl might laugh at him, or listen to him, as she would choose; but I can do neither. I shall now keep away from Greshamsbury, at any rate till he has left it; and Augusta, I can only beg you to understand, that, as far as I am concerned, there is nothing which may not be told to all the world.'
And, so saying, she walked on a little in advance of them, as proud as a queen. Had Lady de Courcy herself met her at that moment, she would almost have felt herself forced to shrink out of the pathway. 'Not say a word of me!' she repeated to herself, but still out loud. 'No word need be left unsaid on my account; none, none.'
Augusta followed her, dumbfounded at her indignation; and Frank also followed, but not in silence. When his first surprise at Mary's great anger was over, he felt himself called upon to say some word that might tend to exonerate his lady-love; and some word also of protestation as to his own purpose.
'There is nothing to be told, nothing, at least, of Mary,' he said, speaking to his sister; 'but of me, you may tell this, if you choose to disoblige your brother—that I love Mary Thorne with all my heart; and that I will never love any one else.'
By this time they had reached the lawn, and Mary was able to turn away from the path which led up to the house. As she left
