r thought so; for to those two
the presence of Lesbia and her chaperon was always a restraint.

Mary could walk twice as far as her elder sister, and revelled in
hill-side paths and all manner of rough places. They ordered their
luncheon at the inn below the waterfall, and had it carried up on to the
furzy slope in front of Wetherlam, where they could eat and drink and be
merry to the music of the force as it came down from the hills behind
them, while the lights and shadows came and went upon yonder rugged
brow, now gray in the shadow, now ruddy in the sunshine.

Mary was as gay as a bird during that rough and ready luncheon. No one
would have suspected her uneasiness about John Hammond's peril or her
own plainness. She might let her real self appear to her brother, who
had been her trusted friend and father confessor from her babyhood; but
she was too thorough a woman to let Mr. Hammond discover the depth of
her sympathy, the tenderness of her compassion for his woes. Later, as
they were walking home across the hills, by Great Langdale and Little
Langdale, and Fox Howe and Loughrigg Fell, she fell behind a few paces
with Maulevrier, and said to him very earnestly--

'You won't tell, will you, dear?'

'Tell what?' he asked, staring at her.

'Don't tell Mr. Hammond what I said about his thinking me ugly. He might
want to apologise to me, and that would be too humiliating. I was very
childish to say such a silly thing.'

'Undoubtedly you were.'

'And you won't tell him?'

'Tell him anything that would degrade my Mary? Assail her dignity by so
much as a breath? Sooner would I have this tongue torn out with red-hot
pincers.'

On the next day, and the next, sunshine and summer skies still
prevailed; but Mr. Hammond did not seem to care for rambling far afield.
He preferred loitering about in the village, rowing on the lake, reading
in the garden, and playing lawn tennis. He had only inclination for
those amusements which kept him within a stone's throw of Fellside: and
Mary knew that this disposition had arisen in his mind since Lesbia had
withdrawn herself from all share in their excursions. Lesbia had not
been rude to her brother or her brother's friend; she had declined their
invitations with smiles and sweetness; but there was always some
reason--a new song to be practised, a new book to be read, a letter to
be written--why she should not go for drives or walks or steamboat trips
with Maulevrier and his frien