When Mary Masters got up on the morning after her arrival she knew that she would have to endure much on that day. Everybody had smiled on her the preceding evening, but the smiles were of a nature which declared themselves to be preparatory to some coming event. The people around her were gracious on the presumption that she was going to do as they wished, and would be quite prepared to withdraw their smiles should she prove to be contumacious. Mary, as she crept down in the morning, understood all this perfectly. She found her stepmother alone in the parlour and was at once attacked with the all important question. "My dear, I hope you have made up your mind about Mr. Twentyman."

"There were to be two months, mamma."

"That\'s nonsense, Mary. Of course you must know what you mean to tell him." Mary thought that she did know, but was not at the present moment disposed to make known her knowledge and therefore remained silent. "You should remember how much this is to your papa and me and should speak out at once. Of course you need not tell Mr. Twentyman till the end of the time unless you like it."

"I thought I was to be left alone for two months."

"Mary, that is wicked. When your papa has so many things to think of and so much to provide for, you should be more thoughtful of him. Of course he will want to be prepared to give you what things will be necessary." Mrs. Masters had not as yet heard of Mr. Morton\'s cheque, and perhaps would not hear of it till her husband\'s bank book fell into her hands. The attorney had lately found it necessary to keep such matters to himself when it was possible, as otherwise he was asked for explanations which it was not always easy for him to give. "You know," continued Mrs. Masters, "how hard your father finds it to get money as it is wanted."

"I don\'t want anything, mamma."

"You must want things if you are to be married in March or April."

"But I shan\'t be married in March or April. Oh, mamma, pray don\'t."

"In a week\'s time or so you must tell Larry. After all that has passed of course he won\'t expect to have to wait long, and you can\'t ask him. Kate, my dear,"—Kate had just entered the room,—"go into the office and tell your father to come into breakfast in five minutes. You must know, Mary, and I insist on your telling me."

"When I said two months,—only it was he said two months—"

"What difference does it make, my dear?"

"It was only because he asked me to put it off. I knew it could make no difference."

"Do you mean to tell me, Mary, that you are going to refuse him after all?"

"I can\'t help it," said Mary, bursting out into tears.

"Can\'t help it! Did anybody ever see such an idiot since girls were first created? Not help it, after having given him as good as a promise! You must help it. You must be made to help it."

There was an injustice in this which nearly killed poor Mary. She had been persuaded among them to put off her final decision, not because she had any doubt in her own mind, but at their request, and now she was told that in granting this delay she had "given as good as a promise!" And her stepmother also had declared that she "must be made to help it,"—or in other words be made to marry Mr. Twentyman in opposition to her own wishes! She was quite sure that no human being could have such right of compulsion over her. Her father would not attempt it, and it was, after all, to her father alone, that she was bound by duty. At the moment she could make no reply, and then her father with the two girls came in from the office.

The attorney was still a little radiant with his triumph about the cheque and was also pleased with his own discernment in the matter of Goarly. He had learned that morning from Nickem that Goarly had consented to take 7s. 6d. an acre from Lord Rufford and was prepared to act "quite the honourable part" on behalf of his lordship. Nickem had seemed to think that the triumph would not end here, but had declined to make any very definite statements. Nickem clearly fancied that he had been doing great things himself, and that he might be allowed to have a little mystery. But the attorney took great credit to himself in that he had rejected Goarly\'s case, and had been employed by Lord Rufford in lieu of Goarly. When he entered the parlour he had for the moment forgotten Larry Twentyman, and was disposed to greet his girl lovingly;—but he found her dissolved in bitter tears. "Mary, my darling, what is it ails you?" he said.

"Never mind about your darling now, but come to breakfast. She is giving herself airs,—as usual."

But Mary never did give herself airs and her father could not endure the accusation. "She would not be crying," he said, "unless she had something to cry for."

"Pray don\'t make a fuss about things you don\'t understand," said his wife. "Mary, are you coming to the table? If not you had better go up-stairs. I hate such ways, and I won\'t have them. This comes of Ushanting! I knew what it would be. The place for girls is to stay at home and mind their work,—till they have got houses of their own to look after. That\'s what I intend my girls to do. There\'s nothing on earth so bad for girls as that twiddle-your-thumbs visiting about when they think they\'ve nothing to do but to show what sort of ribbons and gloves they\'ve got. Now, Dolly, if you\'ve got any hands will you cut the bread for your father? Mary\'s a deal too fine a lady to do anything but sit there and rub her eyes." After that the breakfast was eaten in silence.

When the meal was over Mary followed her father into the office and said that she wanted to speak to him. When Sundown had disappeared she told her tale. "Papa," she said, "I am so sorry, but I can\'t do what you want about Mr. Twentyman."

"Is it so, Mary?"

"Don\'t be angry with me, papa."

"Angry! No;—I won\'t be angry. I should be very sorry to be angry with my girl. But what you tell me will make us all very unhappy;—very unhappy indeed. What will you say to Lawrence Twentyman?"

"What I said before, papa."

"But he is quite certain now that you mean to take him. Of course we were all certain when you only wanted a few more days to think of it." Mary felt this to be the cruellest thing of all. "When he asked me I said I wouldn\'t pledge you, but I certainly had no doubt. What is the matter, Mary?"

She could understand that a girl might be asked why she wanted to marry a man, and that in such a condition she ought to be able to give a reason; but it was she thought very hard that she should be asked why she didn\'t want to marry a man. "I suppose, papa," she said after a pause, "I don\'t like him in that way."

"Your mamma will be sure to say that it is because you went to Lady Ushant\'s."

And so in part it was,—as Mary herself very well knew; though Lady Ushant herself had had nothing to do with it. "Lady Ushant," she said, "would be very well ............