“How so? Has anything happened?”
“I mean your not coming.”
“But nobody ever supposed that I was coming. It was arranged long ago that I should go to Devonshire.”
“I never heard a word about Devonshire until you mentioned it at lunch. Couldn’t you make some excuse — tell Lady Porter that you have been ordered abroad for your health, or that Nanny will be offended if you don’t go with her, or something of that sort?”
“But why? I want to go to Devonshire and I don’t want to go to Trouville.”
“Oh! In that case I suppose you will leave us.”
“Certainly. I hope you are not going to make a grievance of my desertion.”
“Oh no. But it knocks all the fun of the thing on the head.”
“What a pity!”
“I am quite in earnest, you know.”
“Nobody could doubt it, looking at your face. Can nothing be done to console you?”
“Poking fun at me is not the way to console me. Why do you want to go to Devonshire. It’s about the worst climate in England for anyone with a weak chest: muggy, damp and tepid.”
“I have not a weak chest, I am glad to say. Have you ever been in Devonshire?”
“No. But I have heard about it from people who lived there for years and had to leave it at last.”
“I am going for a month only.”
Hoskyn began to twirl the cord of the blind round his forefinger. When he had dashed the tassel twice against the pane Mary interfered.
“Would it not be better to open the window if you wish to let in the fresh air?”
“All I can say is,” said he, dropping the tassel, “that you really might come with us.”
“Very true, but there are many things I really might do, which I really won’t do. And one of them is to disappoint Lady Geraldine.”
“Hang Lady Geraldine. At least, not if she is a friend of yours, but I wish she had invited you at any other time.”
“I think you have now made quite enough fuss about my going away. I am flattered, Mr Hoskyn, and feel how poignantly you will all miss me. So let us drop the subject.”
“When shall I see you again, then?”
“Really I do not know. I hope I shall have the pleasure of meeting you next season. Until then I shall probably be lost to view in Windsor.”
“If you mean that we may meet at dances, and that sort of thing, we are likely never to meet at all; for I never go to them.”
“Then you had better take lessons in dancing, and change your habits.”
“Not I. It is bad enough to be made a fool of by you without making one of myself.”
Mary grew nervous. “I think we are going back to the old subject,” she said.
“No. I was thinking of something else. Miss Sutherland.” here he suddenly raised his voice, which broke, and compelled him to pause and clear his throat— “Miss Sutherland: I hope I am not going to bungle this business by being too hasty — too precipitate, as it were. But if you are really going away, would you mind telling me first whether you have any objection to think over becoming Mrs Hoskyn. Just to think over it, you know.”
“Are you serious?” said Mary, incredulously.
“Of course I am. You don’t suppose I would say such a thing in jest?”
Mary discomfited, privately deplored her womanly disability to make friends with a man without being proposed to. “I think we had better drop this subject too, Mr. Hoskyn,” she replied. Then, recovering her courage, she added, “Of all the arrangements you have proposed, I think this is the most injudicious.’
“We will drop it of you like. I am in no hurry — at least I mean that I don’t wish to hurry you. But you will think it over won’t you?”
“Had you not better think over it yourself, Mr Hoskyn?”
“I have thought of it — let me see! I guess I saw you first about twenty-one days and two hours ago. Well, I have thinking over it constantly all that time.”
“Think better of it.”
“I will. The more I think of it, the better I think of it. And if you will only say yes, I shan’t think the worse of it in this world. Tell me one thing, Miss Sutherland, did you ever know me to make a mistake yet?”
“Not in my twenty-two days and two hour’s experience of you.”
“Twenty-one days and two hours. Well, I am not making a mistake now. Don’t concern yourself about my prospects: stick to your own. If you can hit it off with me. depend on it, my family affairs are settled to my satisfaction forever. What do you think?”
“I still think we had better abandon the subject.”
“For the present?”
“Forever, if you please, Mr Hoskyn.”
“For ever is a long word. I’ve been too abrupt. But you can turn it over in your mind whilst amusing yourself in Devonshire. There is no use in bothering yourself about it now, when we are all separating. Hush. Here’s Nanny.”
Mary was prevented by the entrance of Mrs Phipson from distinctly refusing Mr Hoskyn’s proposal. He, during the rest of the day, seemed to have regained his usual good spirits, and chatted with Mary without embarrassment, although he contrived not to not to be left alone with her. When she retired for the night, he had a short conversation with his sister, who asked whether he had said anything to Mary.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She didn’t say much. She was rather floored: I knew I was beginning too soon. We agreed to let the matter stand over. But I expect it will be all right.”
“What on earth do you mean by agreeing to let the matter stand over? Did she say yes or no?”
“She did not jump at me. In fact she said no; but she didn’t mean it.”
“Hoity-toity! I wonder whom she would consider good enough for her. She may refuse once too often.”
“She won’t refuse me. Though, if she does, I don’t see why you should lose your temper on that score, since you have always maintained that I had no chance.”
“I am not losing my temper. I knew perfectly well that she would refuse; but I think she may go further and fare worse.”
“She hasn’t refused. And — now you mind what I am telling you, Nanny — not a word to her on the subject. Hold your tongue; and don’t pretend to know anything about my plans. Do you hear?”
“You need not make such a to-do about it, Johnny. I don’t want to speak to her. I am sure I don’t care whether she marries you or not.”
“So much the better. If you give her a hint about going further and faring worse — I know you would like to — it is all up with me.”
Mary heard no more about Mr Hoskyn’s suit just then. She left Cavendish Square next day, and went with Lady Geraldine to the southwest of Devonshire, where Sir John Porter owned a large white house with a Doric portico, standing in a park surrounded by wooded hills. Mary began sketching on the third day, in spite of her former resolution to discontinue the practice. Lady Geraldine was too busy recovering the management of her house and dairy farm after her season’s absence, to interfere with the occupation of her guest; but at the end of the week she remarked one evening with a sigh:
“No more solitude for us, Mary. Sir