“What did you hope?”

“I won’t mention any name.  I don’t think it is right.  I have observed that more harm than good comes of such talking, and I have determined always to avoid it.  But—­” Then there was another pause.  “Remember how old I am, Reginald, and when it is to be done give me at any rate the pleasure of knowing it” Of course he knew to whom she alluded, and of course he laughed at her feeble caution.  But he would not say a word to encourage her to mention the name of Mary Masters.  He thought that he was sure that were the girl free he would now ask her to be his wife.  If he loved any one it was her.  If he had ever known a woman with whom he thought it would be pleasant to share the joy and labours of life, it was Mary Masters.  If he could imagine that any one constant companion would be a joy to him, she would be that person.  But he had been distinctly informed that she was in love with some one, and not for worlds would he ask for that which had been given to another.  And not for worlds would he hazard the chance of a refusal.  He thought that he could understand the delight, that he could thoroughly enjoy the rapture, of hearing her whisper with downcast eyes, that she could love him.  He had imagination enough to build castles in the air in which she reigned as princess, in which she would lie with her head upon his bosom and tell him that he was her chosen prince.  But he would, hardly know how to bear himself should he ask in vain.  He believed he could love as well as Lawrence Twentyman, but he was sure that he could not continue his quest as that young man had done.

When Lady Ushant had been a day or two at the house she asked him whether she might invite Mary there as her guest;—­as her perpetual guest.  “I have no objection in life,” he said; “but take care that you don’t interfere with her happiness.”

“Because of her father and sisters?” suggested the innocent old lady.

   “’Has she a father, has she a mother;
     Or has she a dearer one still than all other?’”

said Reginald laughing.

“Perhaps she has.”

“Then don’t interfere with her happiness in that direction.  How is she to have a lover come to see her out here?”

“Why not?  I don’t see why she shouldn’t have a lover here as well as in Dillsborough.  I don’t object to lovers, if they are of the proper sort; and I am sure Mary wouldn’t have anything else.”  Reginald told her she might do as she pleased and made no further inquiry as to Mary’s lovers.

A few days afterwards Mary went with her boxes to Bragton,—­Mrs. Masters repeating her objections, but repeating them with but little energy.  Just at this time a stroke of good fortune befell the Masters family generally which greatly reduced her power over her husband.  Reginald Morton had spent an hour in the attorney’s office, and had declared his purpose of restoring Mr. Masters to his old family position in regard to the Bragton estate.  When