“Now Claude, darling, what do you think of me?” said Mary, one morning; “am I beautiful as a flower in spring?”

“No,” said Claude gravely; “only what you are, my dear little cousin; why?”

Mary’s face was flushed, and her eyes were sparkling as much from mischief as pleasure as she caught her cousin’s hand, led her softly to the open window of her bedroom, and pointed down.

Claude looked at her wonderingly, but she was too well used to her companion’s whims to oppose her, and she looked down.

“Can you see the goose?” whispered Mary.

“I can see Mr Trevithick walking with papa; I thought they were in the study;” and, she hardly knew why, she gazed down with some little interest at the tall, stoutish man of thirty, with closely-cut dark hair and smoothly shaved face, which gave him rather the aspect of a giant boy as he walked beside Gartram, talking to him slowly and earnestly, evidently upon some business matter.

“Well, that’s who I mean,” said Mary, laughing almost hysterically, “for he must be mad.”

“Now, Mary dear, what fit is this?” cried Claude, pressing her hands and drawing her away, as, a very child for the moment, she was about to get upon a chair and peep down from behind the curtain.  “I know how angry papa would be if he caught sight of you looking down.”

“Well, the man should not be such a goose ­gander, I mean.  I thought he was such a clever, staid, serious lawyer that uncle trusted him deeply.”

“Of course,” said Claude warmly; “and he’s quite worthy of it.  I like Mr Trevithick very, very much.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mary, in a mock tragic tone, as she flung her cousin’s hands away, “you’ll make me hate you.”

“Mary, you ought to have been an actress.”

“You mean I ought to have been a man and an actor, Claudie.  Oh, how I could have played Richard the Third.”

“Hush!”

“Oh, they can’t hear.  They’re talking of bills and bonds and lading.  I heard them.  But Claude, oh! and you professing to love Chris Lisle.”

“I never professed anything of the kind,” cried Claude indignantly.

“Your eyes did; and all the time uncle is engaging you to Mr Glyddyr.”

“Mary!  For shame!”

“And in spite of this double-dealing, you must want Mr Trevithick, too?”

“Do you wish to make me angry?”

“Do you wish to make me jealous?”

“Jealous?  Absurd!”

“Of course,” cried Mary sharply.  “What should a poor little miserable like I am know of love or jealousy or heartaches, and the rest of it?”

“My dear coz,” whispered Claude, placing an arm round her, “I shall never understand you.”

“There isn’t much of me, Claude.  It oughtn’t to take you long.”

“But it does,” said Claude playfully.  “I never know when you are serious and when you are teasing.  I have not the most remote idea of what you mean now.”

“Then I’ll tell you.  He’s in love.”

“Who is?”

“Mr Trevithick.”

“Mary!”

“There you go.  No:  not with you.  Of course, it would be quite natural if the great big fellow, coming here every now and then, had fallen in love with his client’s beautiful daughter.  But the foolish goose has fallen in love with some one else.”

“Mary, dear, how do you know?  With whom?”

“Ah!  Of course, you would never guess ­with poor Mary Dillon.”

“Oh, Mary, darling!  But has he really told you so?”

“I should like to see him dare.”

“Yes,” said Claude quietly; “I suppose that is what most girls would like.”

“Don’t, Claude dearest; pray don’t.  My sedate and lovely cousin trying to make jokes.  Oh! this is too delicious.  But it won’t do, Claudie; it is not in your way at all.  I am a natural, born female jester ­a sort of Josephine Miller; but ­you! oh, it is too ridiculous.”

“Now, tell me seriously, what does this mean?” said Claude, taking the girl’s hands.

“What I told you, darling.  Big, clever, serious Mr Trevithick, the learned lawyer, is in love ­with me.”

“Mary, you must be serious now.  But how do you know?”

“How do I know?” cried Mary, with a curl of the lip.  “How does a woman know when a man loves her?”

“By his telling her so, I suppose; and you say Mr Trevithick has not told you.”

“Didn’t you know Chris Lisle loved you before he dared to tell ­I mean, to give you instructions in the art of catching salmon?”

Claude was silent.

“No, of course you did not, dear,” said Mary mockingly.  “As if it was not only too easy to tell.”

“But, Mary dear, this is too serious to trifle about.  You have not given him any encouragement?”

“Only been as sharp and disagreeable to him as I could.”

“But how has he shown it?”

“Lots of ways.  Held my poor little tiny hand in his great big ugly paw, where it looked like a splash of cream in a trencher, and forgot to let it go when he was talking to me; looked down at me as if he were hungry, and I was something good to eat ­like an ogre who wanted to pick my bones; sighed like the wind in Logan cave, and when I dragged my hand away, all crushed and crumpled up, and without a bit of feeling left in it, he begged my pardon, and looked ashamed of himself.”

“And what did you say?”

“I?  I said, `Oh!’”

“That all?”

“No; I said, `you’ve quite spoiled that hand, Mr Trevithick,’ and then the monster looked frightened of me.”

“I am very sorry ­no, very glad, Mary,” said Claude thoughtfully, and looking her surprise.

“Which, dear?”

There was a tap at the door, and Sarah Woodham entered.

“Master wished me to tell you that Mr Trevithick will not stay for dinner, Miss Claude, and said would you come down.”

“Directly, Sarah,” said Claude, rising.  “You will not come, Mary?” she whispered.

“Indeed, but I shall.”

“Mary, dear,” protested her cousin.

“Why, if I stop away the monster will think all sort of things; that I care for him, that he has impressed me favourably, that I have gone to my room to dream.  No, my dear coz, there are some things which must be nipped in the bud, and this is one of them.  It is his whim ­his maggot.  Oh, Claude, he is six feet two.  What a huge maggot to nip.”

They were already part of the way down, to find Gartram and his great legal man of business standing in the hall.

“Better alter your mind, Trevithick, and have a chop with us.  Try and persuade him, Claude.”

“We shall be extremely glad, Mr Trevithick,” said Claude; but her words did not sound warm, and her father looked at her as if surprised.

“I am greatly obliged, but I must get back to town,” said their visitor; and he spoke in a heavy, bashful way, and looked at Mary as if expecting her to speak, but she did not even glance at him.

“Well,” said Gartram, “if you must, you must.”

The big lawyer looked at Claude again in a disappointed way, and his eyes seemed to say, “Coax me a little more.”

But Claude felt pained as she glanced from one to the other, for there was something too incongruous in the idea of those two becoming engaged, for her to wish to aid the matter in the slightest way, and she held out her hand for the parting.

“I suppose it will be three months before we see you again, Mr Trevithick,” she said.

“Yes, Miss Gartram, three months; unless,” he added hastily, “Mr Gartram should summon me before.”

“No fear, Trevithick; four days a year devoted to legal matters are quite enough for me.”

“We none of us know, Mr Gartram,” said the big man solemnly.  “Good-day, Miss Gartram; good-day, Miss Dillon,” and he shook hands with both slowly, as if unwillingly, before he strode away.

“I don’t think Trevithick is well,” said Gartram.