Mary was as gay as a bird during that rough and ready luncheon. No one
would have suspected her uneasiness about John Hammond's peril or her
own plainness. She might let her real self appear to her brother, who
had been her trusted friend and father confessor from her babyhood; but
she was too thorough a woman to let Mr. Hammond discover the depth of
her sympathy, the tenderness of her compassion for his woes. Later, as
they were walking home across the hills, by Great Langdale and Little
Langdale, and Fox Howe and Loughrigg Fell, she fell behind a few paces
with Maulevrier, and said to him very earnestly--
'You won't tell, will you, dear?'
'Tell what?' he asked, staring at her.
'Don't tell Mr. Hammond what I said about his thinking me ugly. He might
want to apologise to me, and that would be too humiliating. I was very
childish to say such a silly thing.'
'Undoubtedly you were.'
'And you won't tell him?'
'Tell him anything that would degrade my Mary? Assail her dignity by so
much as a breath? Sooner would I have this tongue torn out with red-hot
pincers.
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