“Dear Lady Ushant, it is quite settled.”
“Poor young man! But you must go and see
Reginald.” Then she was taken into the
library and did see Reginald. Were she to avoid
him,—specially,—she would tell
her tale almost as plainly as though she were to run
after him. He greeted her kindly, almost affectionately,
expressing his extreme regret that his visit to Cheltenham
should have been postponed and a hope that she would
be much at Bragton. “The distance is so
great, Reginald,” said Lady Ushant.
“I can drive her over. It is a long walk,
and I had made up my mind to get Runciman’s
little phaeton. I shall order it for to-morrow
if Miss Masters will come.” But Miss Masters
would not agree to this. She would walk over
again some day as she liked the walk, but no doubt
she would only be in the way if she were to come often.
“I have told her about Miss Trefoil,”
said Lady Ushant. “You know, my dear, I
look upon you almost as one of ourselves because you
lived here so long. But perhaps you had better
postpone coming again till she has gone.”
“Certainly, Lady Ushant”
“It might be difficult to explain. I don’t
suppose she will stay long. Perhaps she will
go back the same day. I am sure I shan’t
know what to say to her. But when anything is
fixed I will send you in word by the postman.”
Reginald would have walked back with her across the
bridge but that he had promised to go to his cousin
immediately after lunch. As it was he offered
to accompany her a part of the way, but was stopped
by his aunt, greatly to Mary’s comfort.
He was now more beyond her reach than ever,—more
utterly removed from her. He would probably become
Squire of Bragton, and she, in her earliest days, had
heard the late Squire spoken of as though he were
one of the potentates of the earth. She had never
thought it possible; but now it was less possible
than ever. There was something in his manner to
her almost protective, almost fatherly,—as
though he had some authority over her. Lady Ushant
had authority once, but he had none. In every
tone of his voice she felt that she heard an expression
of interest in her welfare, but it was the interest
which a grown-up person takes in a child, or a superior
in an inferior. Of course he was her superior,
but yet the tone of his voice was distasteful to her.
As she walked back to Dillsborough she told herself
that she would not go again to Bragton without assuring
herself that he was not there.
When she reached home many questions were asked of
her, but she told nothing of the secrets of the Morton
family which had been so openly confided to her.
She would only say that she was afraid that Mr. John
Morton was very ill.
Arabella again at Bragton
