Mary in her turn was silent, wondering not at Mr. Farebrother’s manner but at his tone, which had a grave restrained emotion in it.
When the strange idea flashed across her that his words had reference to himself, she was incredulous, and ashamed of entertaining it. She had never thought that any man could love her except Fred, who had espoused her with the umbrella ring, when she wore socks and little strapped shoes; still less that she could be of any importance to Mr. Farebrother, the cleverest man in her narrow circle.
She had only time to feel that all this was hazy and perhaps illusory; but one thing was clear and determined—her answer.
“Since you think it my duty, Mr. Farebrother, I will tell you that I have too strong a feeling for Fred to give him up for anyone else. I should never be quite happy if I thought he was unhappy for the loss of me. It has taken such deep root in me—my gratitude to him for always loving me best, and minding so much if I hurt myself, from the time when we were very little. I cannot imagine any new feeling coming to make that weaker. I should like better than anything to see him worthy of everyone’s respect. But please tell him I will not promise to marry him till then: I should shame and grieve my father and mother. He is free to choose someone else.”
“Then I have fulfilled my commission thoroughly,” said Mr. Farebrother, putting out his hand to Mary, “and I shall ride back to Middlemarch forthwith. With this prospect before him, we shall get Fred into the right niche somehow, and I hope I shall live to join your hands. God bless you!”
“Oh, please stay, and let me give you some tea,” said Mary. Her eyes filled with tears, for something indefinable, something like the resolute suppression of a pain in Mr. Farebrother’s manner, made her