“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 7s. 6d. 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.