f, "that Miss Lawrie will be very
sorry that there should be any ground for a quarrel. I am quite
well aware that there was some friendship between you two. Then you
went, as you say, and though the friendship need not be broken, the
intimacy was over. She had no special reason for remembering you, as
you yourself admit. She has been left to form any engagement that she
may please. Any other expectation on your part must be unreasonable.
I have said that, as an old friend of Miss Lawrie's, I should be
happy to welcome you here to her wedding. I cannot even name a day as
yet; but I trust that it may be fixed soon. You cannot say even to
yourself that Miss Lawrie has treated you badly."

But he could say it to himself. And though he would not say it to
Mr Whittlestaff, had she been there alone, he would have said it to
her. There had been no promise,--no word of promise. But he felt that
there had been that between them which should have been stronger than
any promise. And with every word which came from Mr Whittlestaff's
mouth, he disliked Mr Whittlestaff more and more. He could judge
from Mary's appearance that she was down-hearted, that she was
unhappy, that she did not glory in her coming marriage. No girl's
face ever told her heart's secret more plainly than did Mary's at
this moment. But Mr Whittlestaff seemed to glory in the marriage. To
him it seemed that the getting rid of John Gordon was the one thing
of importance. So it was, at least, that John Gordon interpreted his
manner. But the name of the suitor had not yet been told him, and he
did not in the least suspect it. "May I ask you when it is to be?" he
asked.

"That is a question which the lady generally must answer," said Mr
Whittlestaff, turning on his part also to Mary.

"I do not know," said Mary.

"And who is the happy man?" said John Gordon. He expected an answer
to the question also from Mary, but Mary was still unable to answer
him. "You at any rate will tell me, sir, the name of the gentleman."

"I am the gentleman," said Mr Whittlestaff, holding himself somewhat
more erect as he spoke. The position, it must be acknowledged, was
difficult. He could see that this strange man, this John Gordon,
looked upon him, William Whittlestaff, to be altogether an unfit
person to take Mary Lawrie for his wife. By the tone in which he
asked the question, and by the look of surprise which he put on
when he received the answer, Gordon showed plainly that he had