“They’ll hardly believe it at first.”
“I hope they’ll be glad.”
“Glad! Why what do you suppose they would want me to do? Dear papa! And dear mamma too, because she has really been good to me. I wonder when it must be?” Then that question was discussed at great length, and Lady Ushant had a great deal of very good advice to bestow. She didn’t like long engagements, and it was very essential for Reginald’s welfare that he should settle himself at Bragton as soon as possible. Mary’s pleas for a long day were not very urgent.
That evening at Bragton was rather long and rather dull. It was almost the first that she had ever passed in company with Reginald, and there now seemed to be a necessity of doing something peculiar, whereas there was nothing peculiar to be done. It was his custom to betake himself to his books after dinner; but he could hardly do so with ease in company with the girl who had just promised him to be his wife. Lady Ushant too wished to show her extreme joy, and made flattering but vain attempts to be ecstatic. Mary, to tell the truth, was longing for solitude, feeling that she could not yet realise her happiness.
Not even when she was in bed could she reduce her mind to order. It would have been all but impossible even had he remained the comparatively humble lord of Hoppet Hall;—but that the squire of Bragton should be her promised husband was a marvel so great that from every short slumber, she waked with fear of treacherous dreams. A minute’s sleep might rob her of her joy and declare to her in the moment of waking that it was all an hallucination. It was not that he was dearer to her, or that her condition was the happier, because of his position and wealth;—but that the chance of his inheritance had lifted him so infinitely above her! She thought of the little room at home which she generally shared with one of her sisters, of her all too scanty wardrobe, of her daily tasks about the house, of her stepmother’s late severity, and of her father’s cares. Surely he would not hinder her from being good to them; surely he would let the young girls come to her from time to time! What an added happiness it would be if he would allow her to pass on to them some sparks of the prosperity which he was bestowing on her. And then her thoughts travelled on to poor Larry. Would he not be more contented now;—now, when he would be certain that no further frantic efforts could avail him anything. Poor Larry! Would Reginald permit her to regard him as a friend? And would he submit to friendly treatment? She could look forward and see him happy with his wife, the best loved of their neighbours;—for who was there in the world better than Larry? But she did not know how two men who had both been her lovers, would allow themselves to be brought together. But, oh, what peril had been there! It was but the other day she had striven so hard to give the lie to her love and to become Larry’s wife. She shuddered beneath the bedclothes as she thought of the danger she had run. One word would have changed all her Paradise into a perpetual wail of tears and waste of desolation. When she woke in the morning from her long sleep an effort was wanting to tell her that it was all true. Oh, if it had slipped from her then;—if she had waked after such a dream to find herself loving in despair with a sore bosom and angry heart!
She met him downstairs, early, in the study, having her first request to make to him. Might she go in at once after breakfast and tell them all? “I suppose I ought to go to your father,” he said. “Let me go first,” she pleaded, hanging on his arm. “I would not think that I was not mindful of them from the very beginning.” So she was driven into Dillsborough in the pony carriage which had been provided for old Mrs. Morton’s use, and told her own story. “Papa,” she said, going to the office door. “Come into the house;—come at once.” And then, within her father’s arms, while her stepmother listened, she told them of her triumph. “Mr. Reginald Morton wants me to be his wife, and he is coming here to ask you.”
“The Lord in heaven be good to us,” said Mrs. Masters, holding up both her hands. “Is it true, child?”
“The squire!”
“It is true, papa—and—and—”
“And what, my love?”
“When he comes to you, you must say I will be.”
There was not much danger on that score. “Was it he that you told me of?” said the attorney. To this she only nodded her assent. “It was Reginald Morton all the time? Well!”
“Why shouldn’t it be he?”
“Oh no, my dear! You are a most fortunate girl—most fortunate! But somehow I never thought of it, that a child of mine should come to live at Bragton and have it, one may say, partly as her own! It is odd after all that has come and gone. God bless you, my dear, and make you happy. You are a very fortunate child.”
Mrs. Masters was quite overpowered. She had thrown herself on to the old family sofa, and was fanning herself with her handkerchief. She had been wrong throughout, and was now completely humiliated by the family success; and yet she was delighted, though she did not dare to be triumphant. She had so often asked both father and daughter what good gentlemen would do to either of them; and now the girl was engaged to marry the richest gentleman in the neighbourhood! In any expression of joy she would be driven to confess how wrong she had always been. How often had she
