He would ask her.
"Mary, what's come o'er thee and Jem Wilson? You were great friends
at one time."
"Oh, folk say he is going to be married to Molly Gibson, and of
course courting takes up a deal o' time," answered Mary, as
indifferently as she could.
"Thou'st played thy cards badly, then," replied her father, in a
surly tone. "At one time he were desperate fond o' thee, or I'm
much mistaken. Much fonder of thee than thou deservedst."
"That's as people think," said Mary pertly, for she remembered that
the very morning before she had met Mr. Carson, who had sighed, and
swore, and protested all manner of tender vows that she was the
loveliest, sweetest, best, etc. And when she had seen him
afterwards riding with one of his beautiful sisters, had he not
evidently pointed her out as in some way or other an object worthy
of attention and interest, and then lingered behind his sister's
horse for a moment to kiss his hand repeatedly. So, as for Jem
Wilson, she could whistle him down the wind.
But her father was not in the mood to put up with pertness, and he
upbraided her with the loss of Jem Wilson till she had to bite her
lips till the blood came, in order to keep down the angry words that
would rise in her heart.
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