"Can they not be realized, Mary?"
"Do you mean by that question to offer me your hand, Allan? At any rate I
will consider it a fulfillment of your father's desire. No, they cannot be
realized. You are to me as a brother. I distinctly refuse to accept you as
a husband. Uncle John is a gentleman; he will consider my 'no' as final;
and he is too just to blame you, because I decline to be your wife. Nor
shall we be any worse friends, Allan, for this honest talk, I am sure of
that." She smiled bravely in his face, and he did not suspect how deeply
both her affections and her pride had been wounded.
"Let us go back to the house; the air is heavy and hot, we may have a
storm."
Allan was thoroughly miserable and unsettled. As soon as Mary had so
positively refused him, he began to have doubts and longings. "Drumloch
was a fine estate--the name was old and honorable, and in a fair way for
greater honors--Mary was sweet and sensible, and a woman to be desired
above all other women--except Maggie. Yet, after all, was he not paying a
great price for his pearl?" Mary and Maggie were both difficult to resign.
He began to grumble at events and to blame every one but himself. "If his
father had not been so unreasonable, he never would have gone to Edinburgh
at the time he did--never would have gone to Pittenloch--never would have
met Maggie Promoter."
John Campbell came home in unusually high spirits. He had made a
profitable contract, and he had done a kindness to an old friend. Both
circumstances had been mental tonics to him. He felt himself a happy man.
The atmosphere of the dinner table chilled him a little, but for once the
subject on which he was always hoping and fearing did not enter his mind.
When Mary left the room, he said cheerfully, "We will be with you anon,
dearie, and then you shall sing for us, 'The Lass O' Gowrie,'" and
he began to hum the pretty melody as he poured out for himself another
glass of port. "Help yourself, Allan. You do not seem very bright
to-night."
"I do not feel very bright. Mary told me positively this morning that she
would not marry me."
"What! Not marry you? Did you ask her?"
"She said 'no'."
"Oh, but she be to marry you! Your father would not have taken 'no', sir."
"A man cannot force a rich girl to be his wife. If you will speak to Mary,
you will understand how useless any further hope is."
"I will speak to her. I can hardly believe this sorrow has really come to
me."