THE BEGINNING OF PERSECUTION.
When Mary Masters got up on the morning after her arrival she knew
that she would have to endure much on that day. Everybody had smiled
on her the preceding evening, but the smiles were of a nature which
declared themselves to be preparatory to some coming event. The
people around her were gracious on the presumption that she was
going to do as they wished, and would be quite prepared to withdraw
their smiles should she prove to be contumacious. Mary, as she crept
down in the morning, understood all this perfectly. She found her
stepmother alone in the parlour and was at once attacked with the all
important question. "My dear, I hope you have made up your mind about
Mr. Twentyman."
"There were to be two months, mamma."
"That's nonsense, Mary. Of course you must know what you mean to tell
him." Mary thought that she did know, but was not at the present
moment disposed to make known her knowledge and therefore remained
silent. "You should remember how much this is to your papa and me and
should speak out at once. Of course you need not tell Mr. Twentyman
till the end of the time unless you like it."
"I thought I was to be left alone for two months."
"Mary, that is wicked. When your papa has so many things to think of
and so much to provide for, you should be more thoughtful of him. Of
course he will want to be prepared to give you what things will be
necessary." Mrs. Masters had not as yet heard of Mr. Morton's cheque,
and perhaps would not hear of it till her husband's bank book fell
into her hands. The attorney had lately found it necessary to keep
such matters to himself when it was possible, as otherwise he was
asked for explanations which it was not always easy for him to give.
"You know," continued Mrs. Masters, "how hard your father finds it to
get money as it is wanted."
"I don't want anything, mamma."
"You must want things if you are to be married in March or April."
"But I shan't be married in March or April. Oh, mamma, pray don't."
"In a week's time or so you must tell Larry. After all that has
passed of course he won't expect to have to wait long, and you can't
ask him. Kate, my dear,"--Kate had just entered the room,--"go into
the office and tell your father to come into breakfast in five
minutes. You must know, Mary, and I insist on your telling me."
"When I said two months,--only it was he said two months--"
"What difference does it make, my dear?"
"It was only because he asked me to put it off. I knew it could make
no difference."
"Do you mean to tell me, Mary, that you are going to refuse him after
all?"
"I can't help it," said Mary, bursting out into tears.
"Can't help it! Did anybody ever see such an idiot since girls were
first created? Not help it, after having given him as good as a
promise! You must help it. You must be made to help it."
There was an injustice in this which nearly killed poor Mary. She had
been persuaded among them to put off her final decision, not because
she had any doubt in her own mind, but at their request, and now she
was told that in granting this delay she had "given as good as a
promise!" And her stepmother also had declared that she "must be made
to help it,"--or in other words be made to marry Mr. Twentyman in
opposition to her own wishes! She was quite sure that no human being
could have such right of compulsion over her. Her father would not
attempt it, and it was, after all, to her father alone, that she was
bound by duty. At the moment she could make no reply, and then her
father with the two girls came in from the office.
The attorney was still a little radiant with his triumph about the
cheque and was also pleased with his own discernment in the matter
of Goarly. He had learned that morning from Nickem that Goarly
had consented to take 7_s._ 6_d._ an acre from Lord Rufford and
was prepared to act "quite the honourable part" on behalf of his
lordship. Nickem had seemed to think that the triumph would not end
here, but had declined to make any very definite statements. Nickem
clearly fancied that he had been doing great things himself, and that
he might be allowed to have a little mystery. But the attorney took
great credit to himself in that he had rejected Goarly's case, and
had been employed by Lord Rufford in lieu of Goarly. When he entered
the parlour he had for the moment forgotten Larry Twentyman, and was
disposed to greet his girl lovingly;--but he found her dissolved in
bitter tears. "Mary, my darling, what is it ails you?" he said.
"Never mind about your darling now, but come to breakfast. She is
giving herself airs,--as usual."
But Mary never did give herself airs and her father could not endure
the accusation. "She would not be crying," he said, "unless she had
something to cry for."
"Pray don't make a fuss about things you don't understand," said his
wife. "Mary, are you coming to the table? If not you had better go
up-stairs. I hate such ways, and I won't have them. This comes of
Ushanting! I knew what it would be. The place for girls is to stay
at home and mind their work,--till they have got houses of their own
to look after. That's what I intend my girls to do. There's nothing
on earth so bad for girls as that twiddle-your-thumbs visiting about
when they think they've nothing to do but to show what sort of
ribbons and gloves they've got. Now, Dolly, if you've got any hands
will you cut the bread for your father? Mary's a deal too fine a
lady to do anything but sit there and rub her eyes." After that the
breakfast was eaten in silence.
When the meal was over Mary followed her father into the office and
said that she wanted to speak to him. When Sundown had disappeared
she told her tale. "Papa," she said, "I am so sorry, but I can't do
what you want about Mr. Twentyman."
"Is it so, Mary?"
"Don't be angry with me, papa."
"Angry! No;--I won't be angry. I should be very sorry to be
angry with my girl. But what you tell me will make us all very
unhappy;--very unhappy indeed. What will you say to Lawrence
Twentyman?"
"What I said before, papa."
"But he is quite certain now that you mean to take him. Of course we
were all certain when you only wanted a few more days to think of
it." Mary felt this to be the cruellest thing of all. "When he asked
me I said I wouldn't pledge you, but I certainly had no doubt. What
is the matter, Mary?"
She could understand that a girl might be asked why she wanted to
marry a man, and that in such a condition she ought to be able to
give a reason; but it was she thought very hard that she should be
asked why she didn't want to marry a man. "I suppose, papa," she said
after a pause, "I don't like him in that way."
"Your mamma will be sure to say that it is because you went to Lady
Ushant's."
And so in part it was,--as Mary herself very well knew; though Lady
Ushant herself had had nothing to do with it. "Lady Ushant," she
said, "would be very well pleased,--if she thought that I liked him
well enough."
"Did you tell Lady Ushant?"
"Yes; I told her all about it,--and how you would all be pleased. And
I did try to bring myself to it. Papa,--pray, pray don't want to send
me away from you."
"You would be so near to us all at Chowton Farm!"
"I am nearer here, papa." Then she embraced him, and he in a manner
yielded to her. He yielded to her so far as to part with her at the
present moment with soft loving words.
Mrs. Masters had a long conversation with her husband on the subject
that same day, and condescended even to say a few words to the
two girls. She had her own theory and her own plan in the present
emergency. According to her theory girls shouldn't be indulged in any
vagaries, and this rejecting of a highly valuable suitor was a most
inexcusable vagary. And, if her plan were followed, a considerable
amount of wholesome coercion would at once be exercised towards this
refractory young woman. There was in fact more than a fortnight
wanting to the expiration of Larry's two months, and Mrs. Masters was
strongly of opinion that if Mary were put into a sort of domestic
"Coventry" during this period, if she were debarred from friendly
intercourse with the family and made to feel that such wickedness as
hers, if continued, would make her an outcast, then she would come
round and accept Larry Twentyman before the end of the time. But this
plan could not be carried out without her husband's co-operation.
Were she to attempt it single-handed, Mary would take refuge in her
father's softness of heart and there would simply be two parties in
the household. "If you would leave her to me and not speak to her, it
would be all right," Mrs. Masters said to her husband.
"Not speak to her!"
"Not cosset her and spoil her for the next week or two. Just leave
her to herself and let her feel what she's doing. Think what Chowton
Farm would be, and you with your business all slipping through your
fingers."
"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 7_s._ 6_d._, 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.