She perceived it at once.
"Ah! yes, that is it," she cried passionately, hardly knowing
what she said. "Do you think I do not see, that I cannot
understand? Do I not know who it is you care to listen to now,
to talk to, to consult? Ask her what she thinks, ask
Madeleine's advice----"
"Be silent!" cried Horace, with sudden anger, "I will not have
Madeleine's name mentioned between us in that way. Forgive me,
Maria," he went on, more calmly, "but this sort of talk is
useless; though, if I cared to recriminate, I might perhaps
ask you, how it happens that Mr. Morris comes here so
frequently."
"Mr. Morris!" faltered Maria; "who told you----"
Her momentary indignation melted into tears and sobs; she
turned, and put out her hand to Graham, as they stood together
under the big plane-tree.
"Oh, Horace," she said, "I am very unhappy, and if you blame
me, I cannot help it--I daresay I deserve it."
"My poor Molly," he answered, taking her hand in his. "Why
should I blame you? and why are you unhappy? Let me help you--
unless, indeed, I am altogether the cause of it all.
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