And then her memory recalled the words Henry Halford had uttered, the pressure of the hand, the inquiry whether he was forgiven. Was all this making love? Perhaps it was--perhaps he wished by speaking and acting as he did, to show her that he loved her. So tender was the young girl's conscience that she was about to tell her father all that had passed rather than feel conscious of having unwittingly deceived him. His angry words checked her. "Well for you that this poverty-stricken schoolmaster has not dared to make love to my daughter. Going to be a parson, is he? and wants her money to make up the deficiency of a curate's pittance. No, no, Mary, no such half-starved husbands for you; and if you ever dare to marry without my consent, not a penny of money shall you have, even to save you from the workhouse!" He rose as he spoke, his utterance inarticulate, and his features distorted with rage; then he left the room, banging the door after him. Mrs. Armstrong leaned back in her chair, pale even to the lips; Mary had risen in terror when her father left the room; she now hastened to her mother, and leading her to the drawing-room, placed her in an easy-chair, and then fetched her a glass of wine. The calm and loving attention of her daughter restored quietness to her nerves, and then Mary knelt at her feet, and burying her face in the folds of her dress, she said-- "Mamma, I am afraid I have not been quite truthful in what I said this evening. Mamma, I have wanted to speak to you about something ever since I came back from Oxford; but I did not know how to begin, and I must now. If--if a gentleman tells you he should be too happy to attend to your every wish for his whole life, if he could only dare to hope such a thing were possible, is that making love?" Mrs. Armstrong smiled, even in the midst of her fears; but as Mary did not raise her head, she said-- "Well, my dear, it depends. Many men would make such a remark merely as a compliment; but has any gentleman said this to you?" "Yes, mamma." "What gentleman, Mary?" How the mother dreaded the answer which she already guessed! It came at last, clear and distinct, for Mary raised her head to speak, but she did not look up. "Mr. Henry Halford." "Did you see much of him at Oxford, Mary?" "Yes, mamma, he dined with uncle and aunt at the hotel several times, and they liked him very much." "Was he very attentive to you?" "No, mamma, not more than to other ladies." "Did you walk out often alone?" "Never but once, and that occurred because he went back to fetch a book for me, and the rest got a long way before us." "Did nothing more pass between you?" "Not much; when we were getting near the hotel he asked me to forgive what he had said and forget it." "And what was your reply to this?" "Mamma, I told him there was nothing to forgive." "Then of course he understands that you would like him to attend to your every wish for your whole life--is that it, Mary?"