Then she asked herself what was Walter's objection; she couldn't conceive why he was afraid to trust Mr.Hope.

It was a perfect puzzle to her.
Indeed this was a most unfortunate dialogue between her and Walter, for it set her mind speculating and guessing at Walter's mind, and thinking all manner of things just at the moment when an enemy, smooth as the old serpent, was watching for an opportunity to make mischief and poison her mind.

Leonard Monckton, who had long been hanging about, waiting to catch her alone, met her returning from Walter Clifford, and took off his hat very respectfully to her, and said: "Miss Bartley, I think." Mary lifted her eyes, and saw an elderly man with a pale face and dark eyebrows and a cast of countenance quite unlike that of any of her friends.

His face repelled her directly, and she said, very coldly: "Yes, sir; but I have not the pleasure of knowing you." And she quietly passed on.
Monckton affected not to see that she was declining to communicate with him.

He walked on quietly, and said: "And I have not seen you since you were a child, but I had the honor of knowing your mother." "You knew my mother, sir ?" "Knew her and respected her." "What was she like, sir ?" "She was tall and rather dark, not like you." "So I have heard," said Mary.