hen he knows
what an outlay we've been at for machinery; and there's the Equatorial
Company cutting its own throat at Guayaquil, and that young fellow up
at the San Benito not half to be trusted--Robson can't make out his
accounts; and here am I such a wretch that I can hardly tell what two
and two make; and here's Ward, the very fellow to come in and set all
straight in the nick of time; and I can't ask him so much as to look at
a paper for me, because I'm not to lay myself under an obligation.'

'But, papa, if our affairs are not prosperous, it would not be fair to
connect Mr. Ward or any one with them.'

'Never you trouble yourself about that! You'll come in for a pretty
fortune of your own, whatever happens to that abominable cheat of a
Company; and that might be saved if only I was the man I was, or
Dynevor was here. If Ward would give us a loan, and turn his mind to
it, we should be on our legs in an instant. It is touch and go just
now!--I declare, Mary,' he broke out again after an interval, 'I never
saw anything so selfish as you are! Lingering and pining on about this
foolish young man, who has never taken any notice of you since you have
been out here, and whom you hear is in love with another woman--married
to her very likely by this time--or, maybe, only wishing you were
married and out of his way.'

'I do not believe so,' answered Mary, stoutly.

'What! you did not see Oliver's letter from that German place?'

'Yes, I did,' said Mary; 'but I know his manner to Clara.'

'You do? You take things coolly, upon my word!'

'No,' said Mary. 'I know they are like brother and sister, and Clara
could never have written to me as she has done, had there been any such
notion. But that is not the point, papa. What I know is, that while
my feelings are what they are at present, it would not be right of me
to accept any one; and so I shall tell Mr. Ward, if he is still
determined to see me. Pray forgive me, dear papa. I do admire and
honour him very much, but I cannot do any more; and I am sorry I have
seemed pining or discontented, for I tried not to be so.'

A grim grunt was all the answer that Mr. Ponsonby vouchsafed. His
conscience, though not his lips, acquitted poor Mary of discontent or
pining, as indeed it was the uniform cheerfulness of her demeanour that
had misled him into thinking the unfortunate affair forgotten.

He showed no symptoms of speaking again; and Mary, leaning back in her
chai