“For this? for what?” said Mary, imagining now that something specific must have been said or done.
“This dreadful certainty that I shall be bowled out by Farebrother.”
Mary was appeased by her inclination to laugh.
“Fred,” she said, peeping round to catch his eyes, which were sulkily turned away from her, “you are too delightfully ridiculous. If you were not such a charming simpleton, what a temptation this would be to play the wicked coquette, and let you suppose that somebody besides you has made love to me.”
“Do you really like me best, Mary?” said Fred, turning eyes full of affection on her, and trying to take her hand.
“I don’t like you at all at this moment,” said Mary, retreating, and putting her hands behind her. “I only said that no mortal ever made love to me besides you. And that is no argument that a very wise man ever will,” she ended, merrily.
“I wish you would tell me that you could not possibly ever think of him,” said Fred.
“Never dare to mention this any more to me, Fred,” said Mary, getting serious again. “I don’t know whether it is more stupid or ungenerous in you not to see that Mr. Farebrother has