‘You are looking very well, Mary,’ he said, almost involuntarily.  ’Am I?’ she answered, smiling.  ’It’s very nice at any rate to be complimented.  Uncle never pays me any compliments of that sort.’

In truth, she was looking well.  She would say to herself over and over again, from morning to night, that Frank’s love for her would be, must be, unfortunate; could not lead to happiness.  But, nevertheless, it did make her happy.  She had before his return made up her mind to be forgotten, and it was so sweet to find that he had been so far from forgetting her.  A girl may scold a man in words for rashness in his love, but her heart never scolds him for such an offence as that.  She had not been slighted, and her heart, therefore, still rose buoyant within her breast.

The doctor entered the room.  As the squire’s visit had been expected by him, he had of course not been out of the house.  ’And now I suppose I must go,’ said Mary; ’for I know you are going to talk about business.  But, uncle, Mr Gresham says I’m looking very well.  Why have you not been able to find that out?’

‘She’s a dear, good girl,’ said the squire, as the door shut behind her; ‘a dear good girl!’ and the doctor could not fail to see that his eyes were filled with tears.

‘I think she is,’ said he, quietly.  And then they both sat silent, as though each was waiting to hear whether the other had anything more to say on that subject.  The doctor, at any rate, had nothing more to say.

‘I have come here specially to speak to you about her.’

‘About Mary?’

’Yes, doctor; about her and Frank:  something must be done, some arrangement made:  if not for our sakes, at least for theirs.’

‘What arrangement, squire?’

’Ah! that’s the question.  I take it for granted that either Frank or Mary has told you that they have engaged themselves to each other.’

‘Frank told me some twelve months since.’

‘And has not Mary told you?’

’Not exactly that.  But, never mind; she has, I believe, no secret from me.  Though I have said but little to her, I think I know it all.’

‘Well, what then?’

The doctor shook his head and put up his hands.  He had nothing to say; no proposition to make; no arrangement to suggest.  The thing was so, and he seemed to say that, as far as he was concerned, there was an end of it.

The squire sat looking at him, hardly knowing how to proceed.  It seemed to him, that the fact of a young man and a young lady being in love with each other was not a thing to be left to arrange itself, particularly seeing the rank in life in which they were placed.  But the doctor seemed to be of a different opinion.

’But, Dr Thorne, there is no man on God’s earth who knows my affairs as well as you do; and in knowing mine, you know Frank’s.  Do you think it possible that they should marry each other?’