“Because I’ve got nothing to say.”
“That’s nonsense. There is always something to say.”
“You have ruined me, mamma; just ruined me.”
“I did for you the very best I could. If you would have been advised by me, instead of being ruined, you would have had a handsome fortune. I have slaved for you for the last twelve years. No mother ever sacrificed herself for her child more than I have done for you, and now see the return I get. I sometimes think that it will kill me.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Everything I say is nonsense—while you tell me one day that you are going to hang yourself, and another day that you will drown yourself.”
“So I would if I dared. What is it that you have brought me to? Who will have me in their houses when they hear that you consented to take Lord Rufford’s money?”
“Nobody will hear it unless you tell them.”
“I shall tell my uncle and my aunt and Mistletoe, in order that they may know how it is that Lord Rufford has been allowed to escape. I say that you have ruined me. If it had not been for your vulgar bargain with him, he must have been brought to keep his word at last. Oh, that he should have ever thought it was possible that I was to be bought off for a sum of money!”
Later on in the evening, the mother again implored her daughter to speak to her. “What’s the use, mamma, when you know what we think of each other? What’s the good of pretending? There is nobody here to hear us.” Later on still she herself began. “I don’t know how much you’ve got, mamma; but whatever it is, we’d better divide it. After what you did in Piccadilly we shall never get on together again.”
“There is not enough to divide,” said Lady Augustus.
“If I had not you to go about with me I could get taken in pretty nearly all the year round.”
“Who’d take you?”
“Leave that to me. I would manage it, and you could join with some other old person. We shall kill each other if we stay like this,” said Arabella as she took up her candle.
“You have pretty nearly killed me as it is,” said the old woman as the other shut the door.
LXIII
Changes at Bragton
Day after day old Mrs. Morton urged her purpose with her grandson at Bragton, not quite directly as she had done at first, but by gradual approaches and little soft attempts made in the midst of all the tenderness which, as a nurse, she was able to display. It soon came to pass that the intruders were banished from the house, or almost banished. Mary’s daily visits were discontinued immediately after that last walk home with Reginald Morton which has been described. Twice in the course of the next week she went over, but on both occasions she did so early in the day, and returned alone just as he was reaching the house. And then, before a week was over, early in March, Lady Ushant told the invalid that she would be better away. “Mrs. Morton doesn’t like me,” she said, “and I had better go. But I shall stay for a while at Hoppet Hall, and come in and see you from time to time till you get better.” John Morton replied that he should never get better; but though he said so then, there was at times evidence that he did not yet quite despond as to himself. He could still talk to Mrs. Morton of buying Chowton Farm, and was very anxious that he should not be forgotten at the Foreign Office.
Lady Ushant had herself driven to Hoppet Hall, and there took up her residence with her nephew. Every other day Mr. Runciman’s fly came for her and carried her backwards and forwards to Bragton. On those occasions she would remain an hour with the invalid, and then would go back again, never even seeing Mrs. Morton, though always seen by her. And twice after this banishment Reginald walked over. But on the second occasion there was a scene. Mrs. Morton to whom he had never spoken since he was a boy, met him in the hall and told him that his visits only disturbed his sick cousin. “I certainly will not disturb him,” Reginald had said. “In the condition in which he is now he should not see many people,” rejoined the lady. “If you will ask Dr. Fanning he will tell you the same.” Dr. Fanning was the London doctor who came down once a week, whom it was improbable that Reginald should have an opportunity of consulting. But he remembered or thought that he remembered, that his cousin had been fretful and ill-pleased during his last visit, and so turned himself round and went home without another word.
“I am afraid there may be—I don’t know what,” said Lady Ushant to him in a whisper the next morning.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what I mean. Perhaps I ought not to say a word. Only so much does depend on it!”
“If you are thinking about the property, aunt, wipe it out of your mind. Let him do what he pleases and don’t think about it. No one should trouble their minds about such things. It is his, to do what he pleases with it.”
“It is
