‘Shillyshally,’ quoth Mrs. Charles Morton over her brother-in-law’s letter. ‘Does he think a mother is to be put off like that?’

So she arrayed herself in panoply of glittering jet and nodding plumes, and set forth by train to Hurminster to assert her rights, and those of her children, armed with a black sunshade, and three pocket-handkerchiefs. She did not usually wear mourning, but this was an assertion of her nobility.

In his sitting-room, wearing his old office coat, pale, wearied, and worried, the Frank Morton, ‘who could be turned round the finger of any one who knew how,’ appeared at her summons.

She met him with an effusive kiss of congratulation. ‘Dearest Frank! No, I must not say Frank! I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the news.’

‘Nor I,’ said he.

‘Nor the dear children. Oh, if your dear brother were only here! We are longing to hear all about it,’ she said, as she settled herself in the arm-chair, a relic of his mother.

He repeated what he had told Mary about the family, the Park, and the London house.

‘I suppose there is a fine establishment of servants and carriages?’

‘The servants are to be paid off. As to the carriages and the rest of the personal property, they go to Miss Morton; but the executors are arranging about my paying for such furniture as I shall want.’

‘And jewels?’

‘There are some heirlooms, but I have not seen them. How are the children?’

‘Very well; very much delighted. Dear Herbert is the noblest boy. He was ready to begin on his navigation studies this next term, but of course there is no occasion for that now.’

‘It is a pity, with his taste for the sea, that he is too old to be a naval cadet.’

‘The army is a gentleman’s profession, if he must have one.’

‘I must consider what is best for him.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ impressively. ‘I am hoping to know what you mean to do for your dear brother’s dear orphans,’ and her handkerchief went up to her eyes.

‘I hope at any rate to give Herbert the education of a gentleman, and to send his sisters to good schools. How are they getting on?’

‘Dear Ida, she is that clever and superior that a master in music and French is all she would want. Besides, you know, she is that delicate. Connie is the bookish one; she is so eager about the examination that she will go on at her school; though I would have taken her away from such a low place at once.’

‘It is a good school, and will have given her a good foundation. I must see what may be best for them.’

‘And, of course, you will put us in a situation becoming the family of your dear brother,’ she added, with another application of the handkerchief.

‘I mean to do what I can, you may be sure, but at present it is impossible to name any amount. I neither know what income is coming to me, nor what will be my expenses. I meant to come and see you as soon as there was anything explicit to tell you; but of course this first year there will be much less in hand than later.’

‘Well,’ she said, pouting, ‘I can put up with something less in the meantime, for of course your poor dear brother’s widow and children are your first consideration, and even a nobleman as a bachelor cannot have so many expenses.’

‘I shall not long continue a bachelor,’ was the answer, given with a sort of shy resolution.

‘Now, Lord Northmoor! You don’t mean to say that you intend to go on with that ridiculous affair; when, if you marry at all, it ought to be one who will bring something handsome into the family.’

‘Once for all, Emma, I will hear no more on that subject. A twenty years’ engagement is not lightly to be broken.’

‘A wretched little teacher,’ she began, but she was cut short.

‘Remember, I will hear no more of this, and’ (nothing but despair of other means could have inspired him) ‘it is for your own interest to abstain from insulting my future wife and myself by such remonstrances.’

Even then she muttered, ‘Very hard! Not even good-looking.’

‘That is as one may think,’ said he, mentally contrasting the flaunting, hardened complexion before him with the sweet countenance he had never perceived to be pinched or faded; and as he heard something between a scornful sniff and a sob, he added, ‘I am wanted in the office, so, if you have no more to say of any consequence, I must leave you, and Hannah shall give you some tea.’

‘Oh, oh, that you should leave your poor brother’s widow in this way!’ and she melted into tears and sobs.

‘I can’t help it, Emma,’ he said, distressed and perplexed. ‘They want me about some business of Mr. Claughton’s, and I can’t keep them waiting. These are office hours, you know. Have some tea, and I will come to you again.’

But Mrs. Emma swallowed her sobs as soon as he was gone, and instead of waiting for the tea, set forth for Miss Lang’s. On asking for Miss Marshall she was shown into the drawing-room, where, after she had waited a few minutes, nursing her wrath to keep it warm, the small figure appeared, whom she had no hesitation in accosting thus—

‘Now, Miss Marshall, do I understand that you are resolved to attempt thrusting yourself on his Lordship, Lord Northmoor’s family?’

Mary, entirely taken by surprise, could only falter, ‘I can only do whatever he wishes.’

‘That is just a mere pretence. I wonder you are not ashamed to play on his honourable feelings, when you know everything is changed, and that it is absolutely ridiculous and derogatory for a peer of the realm to stoop to a mere drudge of a teacher.’

‘It is,’ owned Mary; but she went back to her formulary, ‘it must be as he wishes.’

‘If he is infatuated enough to pretend to wish it, I tell you it is your simple duty to refuse him.’

Whatever might be Mary’s own views of her duty, to have it inculcated in such a manner stirred her whole soul into opposition, which was shown, not in words, but in a tiny curve of the lips, such as infuriated her visitor, so that vulgarity and violence were under no restraint, and whether all self-command was lost in passion, or whether there was an idea that bullying might gain the day, Mrs. Morton’s voice rose into a shrill scream as she denounced the nasty, mean-spirited viper, worming herself—

The folding doors suddenly opened and in a dignified tone Miss Lang announced, ‘Lady Kenton wishes to be introduced to you, Miss Marshall.’

Mary made her little formal bend as well as her trembling limbs would allow her. Her cheeks were hot, her eyes swam, her hand shook as Lady Kenton took it kindly, while Mrs. Morton, too strong in her own convictions to perceive how the land lay, exclaimed, ‘Your Ladyship is come for the same purpose as me, to let Miss Marshall know how detrimental and improper it is in her to persist in holding my brother, Lord Northmoor, to the unfortunate engagement she inveigled him into.’

To utter this with moderate coolness cost such an effort that she thought Mr. Rollstone could not have done it better, and was astonished when Lady Kenton replied, ‘Indeed, I came to have the pleasure of congratulating Miss Marshall on, if it be not impertinent to say so, a beautiful and rare perseverance and constancy being rewarded.’

‘As if she had not known what she was about,’ muttered Mrs. Morton, not even yet quite confounded, but as she saw the lady lay another hand over that of still trembling Mary, she added, ‘Well, if that is the case, my lady, and she is to be encouraged in her obstinacy, I have no more to say, except that it is a cruel shame on his poor dear brother’s children, that—that he has made so much of, and have the best right—’ and she began to sob again.

‘Come,’ said Miss Lang, as if talking to a naughty girl, ‘if you are overcome like that, you had better come away.’

Wherewith authoritative habits made it possible to her to get Mrs. Morton out of the room; while Mary, well used to self-restraint, was struggling with choking tears, but when warm-hearted Lady Kenton drew her close and kissed her, they began to flow uncontrollably, so that she could only gasp, ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, my lady!’

‘Never mind,’ was the answer; ‘I don’t wonder! There’s no word for that language but brutal.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ was Mary’s cry. ‘She is his, Lord Northmoor’s sister-in-law, and he has done everything for her ever since his brother’s death.’

‘That is no reason she should speak to you in that way. I must ask you to excuse me, but we could not help hearing, she was so loud, and then I felt impelled to break in.’

‘It was very very kind! But oh, I wish I knew whether she is not in the right after all!’

‘I am sure Lord Northmoor is deeply attached—quite in earnest,’ said Lady Kenton, feeling rather as if she was taking a liberty.

‘Yes, I know it would grieve him most dreadfully, if it came to an end now, dear fellow. I know it would break my heart, too, but never mind that, I would go away, out of his reach, and he might get over it. Would it not be better than his being always ashamed of an inferior, incompetent creature, always dragging after him?’

‘I do not think you can be either, after what my daughter and Miss Lang have told me.’

‘You see, it is not even as if I had been a governess in a private family, I have always been here. I know nothing about servants, or great houses, or society, not so much as our least little girl, who has a home.’

‘May I tell you what I think, my dear,’ said Lady Kenton, greatly touched. ‘You have nothing to unlearn, and there is nothing needful to the position but what any person of moderate ability and good sense can acquire, and I am quite sure that Lord Northmoor would be far less happy without you, even in the long-run, besides the distress you would cause him now. It is not a brilliant, showy person that he needs, but one to understand and make him a real home.’

‘That is what he is always telling me,’ said Mary, somewhat cheered.

‘Yes, and he could not help showing where his heart is,’ said the lady. ‘Now the holidays are near, are they not?’

‘The 11th of July.’

‘Then, if you have no other plans, will you come and stay with me? We are very quiet people, but you would have an opportunity of understanding something of the kind of life.’

‘Oh, how very kind of you! Nobody has been so good to me.’

‘I think I can help you in some of the difficulties if you will let me,’ said Lady Kenton, quite convinced herself, and leaving a much happier woman than she had found.