'My dear, I am afraid it may be so. Louis is very fond of him, and easily led by a strong character.' She pressed her daughter closer, and felt rather than heard a little sigh; but all that Mary said was, 'Then I had better not think about it.' 'Nay, my dear, tell me first what you think of his manner.' 'It was strange, and a little debonnaire, I think,' said Mary, smiling, but tears gathering in her eyes. 'He said I was too good for him. He said he would make me happy, and that he and his father would be very happy.' A great tear fell. 'Something about not being worthy.' Mary shed a few more tears, while her mother silently caressed her; and, recovering her composure, she firmly said, 'Yes, mamma, I see it is not the real thing. It will be kinder to him to tell him to put it out of his head.' 'And you, my dear?' 'Oh, mamma, you know you could not spare me.' 'If this were the real thing, dearest--' 'No,' whispered Mary, 'I could not leave you alone with papa.' Mrs. Ponsonby went on as if she had not heard: 'As it is, I own I am relieved that you should not wish to accept him. I cannot be sure it would be for your happiness.' 'I do not think it would be right,' said Mary, as if that were her strength. 'He is a dear, noble fellow, and has the highest, purest principles and feelings. I can't but love him almost as if he were my own child: I never saw so much sweetness and prettiness about any one, except his mother; and, oh! how far superior he is to her! But then, he is boyish, he is weak--I am afraid he is changeable.' 'Not in his affections,' said Mary, reproachfully. 'No, but in purposes. An impulse leads him he does not know where, and now, I think, he is acting on excellent motives, without knowing what he is doing. There's no security that he might not meet the person who--' 'Oh, mamma!' 'He would strive against temptation, but we have no right to expose him to it. To accept him now, it seems to me, would be taking too much advantage of his having been left so long to our mercy, and it might be, that he would become restless and discontented, find out that he had not chosen for himself--regret--and have his tone of mind lowered--' 'Oh, stop, mamma, I would not let it be, on any account.' 'No, my dear, I could not part with you where we were not sure the 'real thing' was felt for you. If he had been strongly bent on it, he would have conducted matters differently; but he knows no better.' 'You and I don't part,' said Mary. Neither spoke till she renewed her first question, 'What is to be done?' 'Shall I go and speak to him, my dear?' 'Perhaps I had better, if you will come with me.' Then, hesitating--'I will go to my room for a moment, and then I shall be able to do it more steadily.'