She turned to walk with him to the house and as in courtesy bound, Mark Blakely offered her his arm, and Martha condescended to accept it; neither broke the silence, and they reached the large porch at the Taylor mansion. Martha spoke then. “Are you going to make a long stay in England?” “A very short one; a party of friends are leaving for New York, and they wish me to accompany them, I think I shall go.” “To New York that is a long distance.” Mark smiled, “I am an old traveler, you know.” Martha opened the dining-room door, Charles was alone, he had left the table and was seated in his armchair by the window, a glad smile illumed his face when he saw Mark, he was one of the very few of whom Charles had made a close friend, these close friends, not more than one or two perhaps, can we meet in a life-time; acquaintances many, but friends, those to whom the heart can speak out its inmost thoughts who may be as our own souls, how few. “Have you been to tea?” asked Charles. “I have dined at the hotel,” replied Mark. “Have you come to make a long stay?” inquired Charles. “I shall leave to-morrow, having nothing to do I thought that I would come and see you, I am pleased to see you looking better.” “The warm weather seems to be doing me a little good,” was Charles Taylor’s reply; a consciousness within him of how little better he really was, Charles proceeded with Mark to the drawing-room where his sisters were, and a pleasant hour or two they all spent together.
Matilda laughed at him a great deal about his proposed expedition to New York, telling him she did not believe that he was serious in saying he entertained it. It was a beautiful night, soft, warm and lovely, the clock was striking ten when Mark arose to depart. “If you will wait a few minutes I will go a little way with you,” said Charles Taylor, he withdrew to another room for his coat, then he rejoined him, passed his arm in Mark Blakely’s and went out with him. “Is this New York project a joke?” asked Charles. “Indeed, no, I have not quite made up my mind to go, I think I shall; if so, I shall go in a week from this, why should I not go, I have no settled home, no ties?” “Should you not, Mark, be the happier if you had a settled home; you might form ties, I think a roving life must be a very undesirable one.” “It is one I was never fitted for, my inclination would lead me to love home and domestic happiness, but as you know, I put that out of my power.” “For a time, but that is over, you might marry again.” “I do not think I ever shall,” returned Mark Blakely, feeling half prompted to tell his unsuspicious friend that his own sister was the barrier.