have been a little impetuous.  The presence of this lover could hardly do her much injury.  These were not days in which young women were forced to marry men.  What did he, Reginald Morton, think about it?  He was to remember that as far as she herself was concerned, she dearly loved Mary Masters and would be delighted to have her at Cheltenham; and, so remembering, he was to see the attorney, and Mary herself, and if necessary Mrs. Masters;—­and then to report his opinion to Cheltenham.

Then, fearing that her nephew might be away for a day or two, or that he might not be able to perform his commission instantly, and thinking that Mary might be unhappy if she received no immediate reply to such a request as hers had been, Lady Ushant by the same post wrote to her young friend as follows;—­

Dear Mary,

Reginald will go over and see your father about your proposition.  As far as I myself am concerned nothing would give me so much pleasure.  This is quite sincere.  But the matter is in other respects very important.  Of course I have kept your letter all to myself, and in writing to Reginald I have mentioned no names.

Your affectionate friend,
Margaret Ushant.

CHAPTER XVII

“Particularly proud of you”

Arabella Trefoil left her uncle’s mansion on the day after her lover’s departure, certainly not in triumph, but with somewhat recovered spirits.  When she first heard that Lord Rufford was gone,—­that he had fled away as it were in the middle of the night without saying a word to her, without a syllable to make good the slight assurances of his love that had been given to her in the post carriage, she felt that she was deserted and betrayed.  And when she found herself altogether neglected on the following day, and that the slightly valuable impression which she had made on her aunt was apparently gone, she did for half an hour think in earnest of the Paragon and Patagonia.  But after a while she called to mind all that she knew of great efforts successfully made in opposition to almost overwhelming difficulties.  She had heard of forlorn hopes, and perhaps in her young days had read something of Caesar still clinging to his Commentaries as he struggled in the waves.  This was her forlorn hope, and she would be as brave as any soldier of them all.  Lord Rufford’s embraces were her Commentaries, and let the winds blow and the waves roll as they might she would still cling to them.  After lunch she spoke to her aunt with great courage,—­as the Duchess thought with great effrontery.  “My uncle wouldn’t speak to Lord Rufford before he went?”

“How could he speak to a man who ran away from his house in that way?”

“The running away, as you call it, aunt, did not take place till two days after I had told you all about it.  I thought he would have done as much as that for his brother’s daughter.”

“I don’t believe in it at all,” said the Duchess sternly.