And yet he felt daily the truth of what Mrs. Horneck had said to him--that Mary's acceptance of Colonel Gwyn would be an assurance of her future such as might not be so easily found again. He feared to think what might be in store for a girl who had shown herself to be ruled only by her own sympathetic heart. He resolved that he would speak to her without delay respecting Colonel Gwyn; and though he was afraid that at first she might be disposed to laugh at his attempt to put a more serious complexion upon her rejection of the suitor whom her mother considered most eligible, he had no doubt that he could bring her to regard the matter with some degree of gravity. The opportunity for making an attempt in this direction occurred on the afternoon of the fourth day of his visit. He found himself alone with Mary in the still-room. She had just put on an apron in order to put new covers on the jars of preserved walnuts. As she stood in the middle of the many-scented room, surrounded by bottles of distilled waters and jars of preserved fruits and great Worcester bowls of potpourri, with bundles of sweet herbs and drying lavenders suspended from the ceiling, Charles Bunbury, passing along the corridor with his dogs, glanced in. “What a housewife we have become!” he cried. “Quite right, my dear; the head of the Gwyn household will need to be deft.” Mary laughed, throwing a sprig of thyme at him, and Oliver spoke before the dog's paws sounded on the polished oak of the staircase. “I am afraid, my Jessamy Bride,” said he, “that I do not enter into the spirit of this jest about Colonel Gwyn so heartily as your sister or her husband.” “'Tis foolish on their part,” said she. “But Little Comedy is ever on the watch for a subject for her jests, and Charles is an active abettor of her in her folly. This particular jest is, I think, a trifle threadbare by now.” “Colonel Gwyn is a gentleman who deserves the respect of every one,” said he. “Indeed, I agree with you,” she cried. “I agree with you heartily. I do not know a man whom I respect more highly. Had I not every right to feel flattered by his attention?” “No--no; you have no reason to feel flattered by the attention of any man from the Prince down--or should I say up?” he replied. “'Twould be treason to say so,” she laughed. “Well, let poor Colonel Gwyn be. What a pity 'tis Sir Isaac Newton did not discover a new way of treating walnuts for pickling! That discovery would have been more valuable to us than his theory of gravitation, which, I hold, never saved a poor woman a day's work.” “I do not want to let Colonel Gwyn be,” said he quietly. “On the contrary, I came down here specially to talk of him.” “Ah, I perceive that you have been speaking with my mother,” said she, continuing her work. “Mary, my dear, I have been thinking about you very earnestly of late,” said he. “Only of late!” she cried. “Ah! I flattered myself that I had some of your thoughts long ago as well.”