It was not till three or four o’clock in the afternoon that he went out on his commission to the attorney’s house, having made up his mind that he would do everything in his power to facilitate Mary’s proposed return to Cheltenham.  He asked first for Mr. Masters and then for Miss Masters, and learned that they were both out together.  But he had been desired also to see Mrs. Masters, and on inquiring for her was again shown into the grand drawing-room.  Here he remained a quarter of an hour while the lady of the house was changing her cap and apron, which he spent in convincing himself that this house was altogether an unfit residence for Mary.  In the chamber in which he was standing it was clear enough that no human being ever lived.  Mary’s drawing-room ought to be a bower in which she at least might pass her time with books and music and pretty things around her.  The squalor of the real living room might be conjectured from the untouched cleanliness of this useless sanctum.  At last the lady came to him and welcomed him with very grim courtesy.  As a client of her husband he was very well;—­but as a nephew of Lady Ushant he was injurious.  It was he who had carried Mary away to Cheltenham where she had been instigated to throw her bread-and-butter into the fire,—­as Mrs. Masters expressed it,—­by that pernicious old woman Lady Ushant.  “Mr. Masters is out walking,” she said.  Reginald clearly understood by the contempt which she threw almost unconsciously into her words that she did not approve of her husband going out walking at such an hour.

“I had a message for him—­and also for you.  My aunt, Lady Ushant, is very anxious that your daughter Mary should return to her at Cheltenham for a while.”  The proposition to Mrs. Masters’ thinking was so monstrous, and was at the same time so unexpected, that it almost took away her breath.  At any rate she stood for a moment speechless.  “My aunt is very fond of your daughter,” he continued, “and if she can be spared would be delighted to have her.  Perhaps she has written to Miss Masters, but she has asked me to come over and see if it can be arranged.”

“It cannot be arranged,” said Mrs. Masters.  “Nothing of the kind can be arranged.”

“I am sorry for that”

“It is only disturbing the girl, and upsetting her, and filling her head full of nonsense.  What is she to do at Cheltenham?  This is her home and here she had better be.”  Though things had hitherto gone very badly, though Larry Twentyman had not shown himself since the receipt of the letter, still Mrs. Masters had not abandoned all hope.  She was fixed in opinion that if her husband were joined with her they could still, between them, so break the girl’s spirit as to force her into a marriage.  “As for letters,” she continued, “I don’t know anything about them.  There may have been letters but if so they have been kept from me.  “She was so angry that she could not even attempt to conceal her wrath.