“What a eulogium!” said Mary, laughing and blushing.  “Were he really to me what you suppose, I must be highly flattered; but I must again assure you it is not using Mr. Downe Wright well to talk of him as anything to me.  My mother, indeed—­“.

“Ah!  Mary, my dear, let me advise you to beware of being led, even by a mother, in such a matter as this.  God forbid that I should ever recommend disobedience towards a parent’s will; but I fear you have yielded too much to yours.  I said, indeed, when I heard it, that I feared undue influence had been used; for that I could not think William Downe Wright would ever have been the choice of your heart.  Surely parents have much to answer for who mislead their children in such an awful step as marriage!”

This was the severest censure Mary had ever heard drop from Mrs. Lennox’s lips; and she could not but marvel at the self-delusion that led her thus to condemn in another the very error she had committed herself, but under such different circumstances that she would not easily have admitted it to be the same.  She sought for the happiness of her son, while Lady Juliana, she was convinced, wished only her own aggrandisement.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mary, in answer to her friend’s observation, “parents ought, if possible, to avoid even forming wishes for their children.  Hearts are wayward things, even the best of them.”  Then more seriously she added, “And, dear Mrs. Lennox, do not either blame my mother nor pity me; for be assured, with my heart only will I give my hand; or rather, I should say, with my hand only will I give my heart:  And now good-bye,” cried she, starting up and hurrying away, as she heard Colonel Lennox’s voice in the hall.

She met him on the stair, and would have passed on with a slight remark, but he turned with her, and finding she had dismissed the carriage, intending to walk home, he requested permission to attend her.  Mary declined; but snatching up his hat, and whistling his dogs, he set out with her in spite of her remonstrances to the contrary.

“If you persist in refusing my attendance,” said he, “you will inflict an incurable wound upon my vanity.  I shall suspect you are ashamed of being seen in such company.  To be sure, myself, with my shabby jacket and my spattered dogs, do form rather a ruffian-like escort; and I should not have dared to have offered my services to a fine lady; but you are not a fine lady, I know;” and he gently drew her arm within his as they began to ascend a hill.

This was the first time Mary had found herself alone with Colonel Lennox since that fatal day which seemed to have divided them for ever.  At first she felt uneasy and embarrassed, but there was so much good sense and good feeling in the tone of his conversation—­it was so far removed either from pedantry or frivolity, that all disagreeable ideas soon gave way to the pleasure she had in conversing with one whose turn of mind seemed so similar to her own; and it was not till she had parted from him at the gate of Beech Park she had time to wonder how she could possibly have walked two miles tete-a-tete with a man whom she had heard solicited to love her!