“But,” said Walter, in dismay, “am I not to see her or speak to her all the time I am waiting?”

“I’d see both fathers hanged first, if I was a man,” said Julia.

In short, under the courageous advice of Julia Clifford, Walter began to throw himself in Mary’s way, and look disconsolate; that set Mary pining directly, and Julia found her pale, and grieving for Walter, and persuaded her to write him two or three lines of comfort; she did, and that drew pages from him.  Unfortunately he did not restrain himself, but flung his whole heart upon paper, and raised a tumult in the innocent heart of her who read his passionate longings.

She was so worked upon that at last one day she confided to Julia that her old nurse was going to visit her sister, Mrs. Gilbert, who lived only ten miles off, and she thought she should ride and see her.

“When?” asked Julia, carelessly.

“Oh, any day next week,” said Mary, carelessly.  “Wednesday, if it is fine.  She will not be there till Monday.”

“Does she know?” asked Julia.

“Oh yes; and left because she could not agree with papa about it; and, dear, she said a strange thing—­a very strange thing:  she knew papa’s reasons against him, and they were her reasons for him.”

“Fancy that!” said Julia.  “Your father told you what the reasons were?”

“No; he wouldn’t.  They both treat me like a child.”

“You mean they pretend to,” she added.

“I see one thing; there is some mystery behind this.  I wonder what it is?”

“Ten to one, it is money.  I am only twenty, but already I have found out that money governs the world.  Let me see—­your mother was a Clifford.  She must have had money.  Did she settle any on you?”

“I am sure I don’t know.”

“Ten to one she did, and your father is your trustee; and when you marry, he must show his accounts and cash up.  There, that is where the shoe pinches.”

Mary was distressed.

“Oh, don’t say so, dear.  I can’t bear to think that of papa.  You make me very unhappy.”

“Forgive me, dear,” said Julia.  “I am too bitter and suspicious.  Some day I will tell you things in my own life that have soured me.  Money—­I hate the very word,” she said, clinching her teeth.

She urged her view no more, but in her own heart she felt sure that she had read Mr. Bartley aright.  Why, he was a trader, into the bargain.

As for Mary, when she came to think over this conversation, her own subtle instinct told her that stronger pressure than ever would now be brought on her.  Her timidity, her maiden modesty, and her desire to do right set her on her defense.  She determined to have loving but impartial advice, and so she overcame her shyness, and wrote to Mr. Hope.  Even then she was in no hurry to enter on such a subject by letter, so she must commence by telling him that her father had set a great many people, most of them strangers, to dig