better youth than Carstairs. You see what his
father says about his having a will of his own. When a young man shows a
purpose of that kind he generally sticks to it."

The upshot of it all was, that Mary was to be told, and that her father
was to tell her.

"Yes, papa, he did come," she said. "I told mamma all about me."

"And she told me, of course. You did what was quite right, and I should
not have thought it necessary to speak to you had not Lord Bracy written
to me."

"Lord Bracy has written!" said Mary. It seemed to her, as it had done to
her mother, that Lord Bracy must have written angrily; but though she
thought so, she plucked up her spirit gallantly, telling herself that
though Lord Bracy might be angry with his own son, he could have no cause
to be displeased with her.

"Yes; I have a letter, which you shall read. The young man seems to have
been very much in earnest."

"I don't know," said Mary, with some little exultation at her heart.

"It seems but the other day that he was a boy, and now he has become
suddenly a man." To this Mary said nothing; but she also had come to the
conclusion that, in this respect, Lord Carstairs had lately changed,--very
much for the better. "Do you like him, Mary?"

"Like him, papa?"

"Well, my darling; how am I to put it? He is so much in earnest that he
has got his father to write to me. He was coming over himself again
before he went to Oxford; but he told his father what he was going to do,
and the Earl stopped him. There's the letter, and you may read it."

Mary read the letter, taking herself apart to a corner of the room, and
seemed to her father to take a long time in reading it. But there was
very much on which she was called upon to make up her mind during those
few minutes. Up to the present time,--up to the moment in which her
father had now summoned her into his study, she had resolved that it was
"impossible." She had become so clear on the subject that she would not
ask herself the question whether she could love the young man. Would it
not be wrong to love the young man? Would it not be a longing for the top
brick of the chimney, which she ought to know was out of her reach? So
she had decided it, and had therefore already taught herself to regard the
declaration made to her as the ebullition of a young man's folly. But not
the less had she known how great had been the thing suggested to her,--how
excellent was this top brick of t