"Oh, yes; he was here. He came on purpose to make a regular declaration of love to Mary."
"I did not think the boy had so much spirit in him," said the Doctor. This was a way of looking at it which Mrs. Wortle had not expected. Her husband seemed rather to approve than otherwise of what had been done. At any rate, he had expressed none of that loud horror which she had expected. "Nevertheless," continued the Doctor, "he's a stupid fool for his pains."
"I don't know that he is a fool," said Mrs. Wortle.
"Yes; he is. He is not yet twenty, and he has all Oxford before him. How did Mary behave?"
"That's of course. You and I are bound to believe so. But what did she do, and what did she say?"
"She told him that it was simply impossible."
"So it is,--I'm afraid. She at any rate was bound to give him no encouragement."
"She gave him none. She feels quite strongly that it is altogether impossible. What would Lord Bracy say?"
"If Carstairs were but three or four years older," said the Doctor, proudly, "Lord Bracy would have much to be thankful for in the attachment on the part of his son, if it were met by a return of affection on the part of my daughter. What better could he want?"
"But he is only a boy," said Mrs. Wortle.
"No; that's where it is. And Mary was quite right to tell him that it is impossible. It is impossible. And I trust, for her sake, that his words have not touched her young heart."
"Had it been otherwise how could we have been angry with the child?"
Now this did seem to the mother to be very much in contradiction to that which the Doctor had himself said when she had whispered to him that Lord Carstairs's coming might be dangerous. "I was afraid of it, as you know," said she.
"His character has altered during the last twelve months."
"I suppose when boys grow into men it is so with them."
"Not so quickly," said the Doctor. "A boy when he leaves Eton is not generally thinking of these things."
"A boy at Eton is not thrown into such society," said Mrs. Wortle.
"I suppose his being here and seeing Mary every day has done it. Poor Mary!"
"I don't think she is poor at all," said Mary's mother.
"I am afraid she must not dream of her young lover."
"Of course she will not dream of him. She has never entertained any idea of the kind. There never was a girl with less nonsense of that kind than Mary. When Lord Carstairs spoke to her to-day I do not suppose she had thought about him more than any other boy that has been here."