How would the Ratlers and the Bonteens envy him when
they heard of the prize which had become his! The Cantrips and the
Greshams would feel that he was a friend doubly valuable, if he could
be won back; and Mr. Monk would greet him as a fitting ally,--an ally
strong with the strength which he had before wanted. With whom would
he not be equal? Whom need he fear? Who would not praise him? The
story of his poor Mary would be known only in a small village, out
beyond the Channel. The temptation certainly was very strong.
But he had not a moment in which to doubt. She was standing there
with her face turned from him, but with her hand still stretched
towards him. Of course he took it. What man so placed could do other
than take a woman's hand?
"My friend," he said.
"I will be called friend by you no more," she said. "You must call me
Marie, your own Marie, or you must never call me by any name again.
Which shall it be, sir?" He paused a moment, holding her hand, and
she let it lie there for an instant while she listened. But still she
did not look at him. "Speak to me! Tell me! Which shall it be?" Still
he paused. "Speak to me. Tell me!" she said again.
"It cannot be as you have hinted to me," he said at last. His words
did not come louder than a low whisper; but they were plainly heard,
and instantly the hand was withdrawn.
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