Whilst she sat thus pensive and sad there came a sudden rush and clatter of hoofs, and Miss Clifford and Walter Clifford reined up their horses under the very window.

Mary started up delighted at the bare sight of Walter, but amazed and puzzled.  The next moment her quick intelligence told her this was some daring manoeuvre or other, and her heart beat high.

Walter opened the door and stood beside it, affecting a cold ceremony.

“Miss Bartley, I have brought Miss Clifford to call on you at her request.  My own visit is to your father.  Where shall I find him?”

“In his study,” murmured Miss Bartley.

Walter returned, and the two ladies looked at each other steadily for one moment, and took stock of one another’s dress, looks, character, and souls with supernatural rapidity.  Then Mary smiled, and motioned her visitor to a seat, and waited.

Miss Clifford made her approaches obliquely at first.

“I ought to apologize to you for not returning your call before this.  At any rate, here I am at last.”

“You are most welcome, Miss Clifford,” said Mary, warmly.

“Now the ice is broken, I want you to call me Julia.”

“May I?”

“You may, and you must, if I call you Mary.  Why, you know we are cousins; at least I suppose so.  We are both cousins of Walter Clifford, so we must be cousins to each other.”

And she fixed her eyes on her fair hostess in a very peculiar way.

Mary returned this fixed look with such keen intelligence that her gray eyes actually scintillated.

“Mary, I seldom waste much time before I come to the point.  Walter Clifford is a good fellow; he has behaved well to me.  I had a quarrel with mine, and Walter played the peace-maker, and brought us together again without wounding my pride.  By-and-by I found out Walter himself was in grief about you.  It was my turn, wasn’t it?  I made him tell me all.  He wasn’t very willing, but I would know.  I see his love is making him miserable, and so is yours, dear.”

“Oh yes.”

“So I took it on me to advise him.  I have made him call on your father.  Fathers sometimes pooh-pooh their daughters’ affections; but when the son of Colonel Clifford comes with a formal proposal of marriage, Mr. Bartley can not pooh-pooh him.”

Mary clasped her hands, but said nothing.

Julia flowed on: 

“And the next thing is to comfort you.  You seem to want a good cry, dear.”

“Yes, I d—­do.”

“Then come here and take it.”

No sooner said than done.  Mary’s head on Julia’s shoulder, and Julia’s arm round Mary’s waist.

“Are you better, dear?”

“Oh, so much.”