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328 her also the message which Beatrice had sent. And Mary was rejoiced to hear it; for though, as Patience had said of her, she had never herself felt any inclination to fall in love with Mr. Oriel, she believed him to be one in whose hands her friend's happiness would be secure. Then, by degrees, the conversation changed from the loves of Mr. Oriel and Beatrice to the troubles of Frank Gresham and herself.

'She says, that let what will happen you shall be one of her bridesmaids.'

'Ah, yes, dear Trichy! that was settled between us in auld lang syne; but those settlements are all unsettled now, must all be broken. No, I cannot be her bridesmaid; but I shall yet hope to see her once before her marriage.'

'And why not be her bridesmaid? Lady Arabella will hardly object to that.'

'Lady Arabella!' said Mary, curling her lip with deep scorn. 'I do not care that for Lady Arabella,' and she let her silver thimble fall from her fingers on to the table. 'If Beatrice invited me to her wedding, she might manage as to that; I should ask no question as to Lady Arabella.'

'Then why not come to it?'

She remained silent for a while, and then boldly answered, 'Though I do not care for Lady Arabella, I do care for Mr. Gresham:—and I do care for his son.'

'But the squire always loved you.'

'Yes, and therefore I will not be there to vex his sight. I will tell you the truth, Patience. I can never be in that house again till Frank Gresham is a married man, or till I am about to be a married woman. I do not think they have treated me well, but I will not treat them ill.'

'I am sure you will not do that,' said Miss Oriel.

'I will endeavour not to do so; and, therefore, will go to none of their fêtes! No, Patience.' And then she turned her head to the arm of the sofa, and silently, without audible sobs, hiding her face, she endeavoured to get rid of her tears unseen. For one moment she had all but resolved to pour out the whole truth of her love into her friend's ears; but suddenly she changed her mind. Why should she talk of her own unhappiness? Why should she speak of her own love when she was fully determined not to speak of Frank's promises?

'Mary, dear Mary.'

'Anything but pity, Patience; anything but that,' said she, convulsively, swallowing down her sobs, and rubbing away her tears. 'I cannot bear that. Tell Beatrice from me, that I wish her every happiness; and, with such a husband I am sure she