ssible way their desire that she should marry this man; and now she
had made this journey with the view of following their counsel. So
she thought of herself and her doings; but such was not in truth the
case. When she first determined to visit Bullhampton, she was very
far from thinking that she would accept the man. Mrs. Fenwick's
argument that she should not be kept away from Bullhampton by fear of
Mr. Gilmore, had prevailed with her,--and she had come. And now that
she was there, and that this man was daily with her, it was no longer
possible that she should refuse him. And, after all, what did it
matter? She was becoming sick of the importance which she imputed to
herself in thinking of herself. If she could make the man happy why
should she not do so? The romance of her life had become to her a
rhodomontade of which she was ashamed. What was her love, that she
should think so much about it? What did it mean? Could she not do her
duty in the position in life in which her friends wished to place
her, without hankering after a something which was not to be bestowed
on her? After all, what did it all matter? She would tell the man the
exact truth as well as she knew how to tell it, and then let him take
her or leave her as he listed.

And she did tell him the truth, after the following fashion. It
came to pass at last that a day and an hour was fixed in which Mr.
Gilmore might come to the vicarage and find Mary alone. There were no
absolute words arranging this to which she was a party, but it was
understood. She did not even pretend an unwillingness to receive him,
and had assented by silence when Mrs. Fenwick had said that the man
should be put out of his suspense. Mary, when she was silent, knew
well that it was no longer within her power to refuse him.

He came and found her alone. He knew, too, or fancied that he knew,
what would be the result of the interview. She would accept him,
without protestations of violent love for himself, acknowledging what
had passed between her and her cousin, and proffering to him the
offer of future affection. He had pictured it all to himself, and
knew that he intended to accept what would be tendered. There were
drawbacks in the happiness which was in store for him, but still
he would take what he could get. As each so nearly understood the
purpose of the other it was almost a pity that the arrangement could
not be made without any words between them,--words which could hardly