On the Friday Mrs. Masters could not abstain from proposing that Mary’s visit to Cheltenham should be regarded as altogether out of the question.  She had no new argument to offer,—­except this last interposition of Providence in her favour.  Mr. Masters said that he did not see why Mary should not return with Lady Ushant.  Various things, however, might happen.  John Morton might die, and then who could tell whether Lady Ushant would ever return to Cheltenham?  In this way the short-lived peace soon came to an end, especially as Mrs. Masters endeavoured to utilize for general family purposes certain articles which had been purchased with a view to Mary’s prolonged residence away from home.  This was resented by the attorney, and the peace was short-lived.

On the Saturday Larry came, to the astonishment of Mr. Masters, who was still in his office at half-past seven.  Mrs. Masters at once got hold of him and conveyed him away into the sacred drawing-room.  “Mary is not going,” she said.

“Not going to Cheltenham!”

“It has all been put off.  She shan’t go at all if I can help it.”

“But why has it been put off, Mrs. Masters?”

“Lady Ushant is coming to Bragton.  I suppose that poor man is dying.”

“He is very ill certainly.”

“And if anything happens there who can say what may happen anywhere else?  Lady Ushant will have something else except Mary to think of, if her own nephew comes into all the property.”

“I didn’t know she was such friends with the Squire as that”

“Well;—­there it is.  Lady Ushant is coming to Bragton and Mary is not going to Cheltenham.”  This she said as though the news must be of vital importance to Larry Twentyman.  He stood for awhile scratching his head as he thought of it.  At last it appeared to him that Mary’s continual residence in Dillsborough would of itself hardly assist him.  “I don’t see, Mrs. Masters, that that will make her a bit kinder to me.”

“Larry, don’t you be a coward,—­nor yet soft.”

“As for coward, Mrs. Masters, I don’t know—­”

“I suppose you really do love the girl.”

“I do;—­I think I’ve shown that.”

“And you haven’t changed your mind?”

“Not a bit”

“That’s why I speak open to you.  Don’t you be afraid of her.  What’s the letter which a girl like that writes?  When she gets tantrums into her head of course she’ll write a letter.”

“But there’s somebody else, Mrs. Masters.

“Who says so?  I say there ain’t nobody;—­nobody.  If anybody tells you that it’s only just to put you off.  It’s just poetry and books and rubbish.  She wants to be a fine lady.”

“I’ll make her a lady.”

“You make her Mrs. Twentyman, and don’t you be made by any one to give it up.  Go to the club with Mr. Masters now, and come here just the same as usual.  Come to-morrow and have a gossip with the girls together and show that you can keep your pluck up.  That’s the way to win her.”  Larry did go to the club and did think very much of it as he walked home.  He had promised to come on the Sunday afternoon, but he could not bring himself to believe in that theory of books and poetry put forward by Mrs. Masters.  Books and poetry would not teach a girl like Mary to reject her suitor if she really loved him.