and
had a good deal to think over.

Just before she left Woolwich, Eloquent Gallup had called one afternoon
when both the General and Mrs Grantly were out; but he asked boldly for
Mary. She was at home, and he was shown into the cool, shady garden,
where she was lying in a hammock reading a novel.

This was Eloquent's chance and he took it. He did not stay long. He
left before tea, but during the time he did stay he contrived to let
Mary see . . . what it must be confessed she had already suspected. He
said nothing definite. He was immensely distant in his reverence, but
a much humbler girl than Mary could hardly have mistaken his meaning.
He was so pathetically diffident it was impossible to snub him, and she
had no desire to snub him. Always she was immensely sorry for
him--why, she did not know.

He was plain. He was insignificant. He was not a gentleman by birth,
but he was--and Mary's standard was fairly high--so far as she could
see, a thorough gentleman in feeling and in action. Moreover, he had
ability, and an immense capacity for hard work, both of them qualities
that appealed to Mary.

So she allowed herself to dally vaguely with the idea. It was very
pleasant to be set in a shrine; to be worshipped; to be served in a
prayerful attitude of adoration. To be able by a kind word, a kind
glance, to raise a fellow creature to a dizzy height of happiness. How
could anyone be unkind to that excellent little man? Suppose . . .
this was a daring supposition, and Mary grew hot all over as she
entertained it--suppose, in the dim and distant future, when
Reggie . . . Reggie had never written after he went back to Chatham,
nothing had happened then about India; but suppose he did go for years
and years, and forgot her . . . perhaps he had never wanted to remember
her in that particular way, and she had magnified quite little things
that meant nothing at all. . . . Suppose she ultimately, years hence,
could bring herself to marry Mr Gallup. How angry her father would be!
But that was a prospective contingency that only amused Mary. He would
be angry whoever she married. He would be exceedingly angry if she got
engaged to . . . that young man at Chatham who was so taciturn and
neglectful . . . who didn't seem to want to get engaged to anyone.
Clara Bax said it would be dreadfully dull to marry anyone you'd known
all your life. Would it? Clara Bax said it would be tiresome in the
extreme to marry anyb