“I don’t know that it’s slipping through my fingers at all,” said the attorney mindful of his recent successes.
“If you mean to say you don’t care about it—!”
“I do care about it very much. You know I do. You ought not to talk to me in that way.”
“Then why won’t you be said by me? Of course if you cocker her up, she’ll think she’s to have her own way like a grand lady. She don’t like him because he works for his bread—that’s what it is; and because she’s been taught by that old woman to read poetry. I never knew that stuff do any good to anybody. I hate them fandangled lines that are all cut up short to make pretence. If she wants to read why can’t she take the cookery book and learn something useful? It just comes to this;—if you want her to marry Larry Twentyman you had better not notice her for the next fortnight. Let her go and come and say nothing to her. She’ll think about it, if she’s left to herself.”
The attorney did want his daughter to marry the man and was half convinced by his wife. He could not bring himself to be cruel and felt that his heart would bleed every hour of the day that he separated himself from his girl;—but still he thought that he might perhaps best in this way bring about a result which would be so manifestly for her advantage. It might be that the books of poetry and the modes of thought which his wife described as “Ushanting” were of a nature to pervert his girl’s mind from the material necessities of life and that a little hardship would bring her round to a more rational condition. With a very heavy heart he consented to do his part—which was to consist mainly of silence. Any words which might be considered expedient were to come from his wife.
Three or four days went on in this way, which were days of absolute misery to Mary. She soon perceived and partly understood her father’s silence. She knew at any rate that for the present she was debarred from his confidence. Her mother did not say much, but what she did say was all founded on the theory that Ushanting and softness in general are very bad for young women. Even Dolly and Kate were hard to her—each having some dim idea that Mary was to be coerced towards Larry Twentyman and her own good. At the end of that time, when Mary had been at home nearly a week, Larry came as usual on the Saturday evening. She, well knowing his habit, took care to be out of the way. Larry, with a pleasant face, asked after her, and expressed a hope that she had enjoyed herself at Cheltenham.
“A nasty idle place where nobody does anything as I believe,” said Mrs. Masters. Larry received a shock from the tone of the lady’s voice. He had allowed himself to think that all his troubles were now nearly over, but the words and the voice frightened him. He had told himself that he was not to speak of his love again till the two months were over, and like an honourable man he was prepared to wait the full time. He would not now have come to the attorney’s house but that he knew the attorney would wait for him before going over to the club. He had no right to draw deductions till the time should be up. But he could not help his own feelings and was aware that his heart sank within him when he was told that Cheltenham was a nasty idle place. Abuse of Cheltenham at the present moment was in fact abuse of Mary;—and the one sin which Mary could commit was persistence in her rejection of his suit. But he determined to be a man as he walked across the street with his old friend, and said not a word about his love. “They tell me that Goarly has taken his 7s. 6d., Mr. Masters.”
“Of course he has taken it, Larry. The worse luck for me. If he had gone on I might have had a bill against his Lordship as long as my arm. Now it won’t be worth looking after.”
“I’m sure you’re very glad, Mr. Masters.”
“Well; yes; I am glad. I do hate to see a fellow like that who hasn’t got a farthing of his own, propped up from behind just to annoy his betters.”
“They say that Bearside got a lot of money out of that American.”
“I suppose he got something.”
“What an idiot that man must be. Can you understand it, Mr. Masters?”
They now entered the club and Goarly and Nickem and Scrobby were of course being discussed. “Is it true, Mr. Masters, that Scrobby is to be arrested?” asked Fred Botsey at once.
“Upon my word I can’t say, Mr. Botsey; but if you tell me it is so I shan’t cry my eyes out.”
“I thought you would have known.”
“A gentleman may know a thing, Mr. Botsey,” said the landlord, “and not exactly choose to tell it.”
“I didn’t suppose there was any secret,” said the brewer. As Mr. Masters made no further remark it was of course conceived that he knew all about it and he was therefore treated with some increased deference. But there was on that night great triumph in the club as it was known as a fact that Goarly had withdrawn his claim, and that the American Senator had paid his money for nothing. It was moreover very generally believed that Goarly was going to turn evidence against Scrobby in reference to the poison.
XXXIV
Mary’s Letter
The silent system in regard to Mary was carried on in the attorney’s house for a week, during which her sufferings were very great. From the first she made up her mind to oppose
