‘But, Lady Scatcherd,’ said Mary, when this question of the title had been duly settled, and her ladyship made to understand that she must bear the burden for the rest of her life, ’but, Lady Scatcherd, you were speaking of Sir Roger’s sister; what became of her?’

’Oh, she did very well at last, as Sir Roger did himself; but in early life she was very unfortunate—­just at the time of my marriage with dear Roger—­,’ and then, just as she was about to commence so much as she knew of the history of Mary Scatcherd, she remembered that the author of her sister-in-law’s misery had been a Thorne, a brother of the doctor; and, therefore, as she presumed, a relative of her guest; and suddenly she became mute.

‘Well,’ said Mary; ‘just as you were married, Lady Scatcherd?’

Poor Lady Scatcherd had very little worldly knowledge, and did not in the least know how to turn the conversation or escape from the trouble into which she had fallen.  All manner of reflections began to crowd upon her.  In her early days she had known very little of the Thornes, nor had she thought much of them since, except as regarded her friend the doctor; but at this moment she began to think that she had never heard more than two brothers in the family.  Who then could have Mary’s father?  She felt at once that it would be improper for to say anything as to Henry Thorne’s terrible faults and sudden fate;—­improper also, to say more about Mary Scatcherd; but she was quite unable to drop the matter otherwise than abruptly, and with a start.

‘She was very unfortunate, you say, Lady Scatcherd?’

’Yes, Miss Thorne; Mary, I mean—­never mind me—­I shall do it in time.  Yes, she was; but now I think of it, I had better say nothing more about it.  There are reasons, and I ought not to have spoken of it.  You won’t be provoked with me, will you?’

Mary assured her that she would not be provoked, and of course asked no more questions about Mary Scatcherd; nor did she think much more about it.  It was not so however with her ladyship, who could not keep herself from reflecting that the old clergyman at the Close at Barchester certainly had but two sons, one of whom was now the doctor at Greshamsbury, and the other of whom had perished so wretchedly at the gate of that farmyard.  Who then was the father of Mary Thorne?

The days passed very quietly at Boxall Hill.  Every morning Mary went out on her donkey, who justified by his demeanour all that had been said in his praise; then she would read or draw, then walk with Lady Scatcherd, then dine, then walk again; and so the days passed quietly away.  Once or twice a week the doctor would come over and drink his tea there, riding home in the cool of the evening.  Mary also received one visit from her friend Patience.

So the days passed quietly away till the tranquillity of the house was suddenly broken by tidings from London.  Lady Scatcherd received a letter from her son, contained in three lines, in which he intimated that on the following day he meant to honour them with a visit.  He had intended, he said, to have gone to Brighton with some friends; but as he felt himself a little out of sorts, he would postpone his marine trip and do his mother the grace of spending a few days with her.