“I’ve told her she may go,” said Mr. Masters, whose mind was wandering back to old days,—­to his first wife, and to the time when he used to be an occasional guest in the big parlour at Bragton.  He was always ready to acknowledge to himself that his present wife was a good and helpful companion to him and a careful mother to his children; but there were moments in which he would remember with soft regret a different phase of his life.  Just at present he was somewhat angry, and resolving in his own mind that in this case he would have his own way.

“Then I shall tell her she mayn’t,” said Mrs. Masters with a look of dogged determination.

“I hope you will do nothing of the kind, my dear.  I’ve told her that she shall have a few pounds to get what she wants, and I won’t have her disappointed.”  After that Mrs. Masters bounced out of the room, and made herself very disagreeable indeed over the tea-things.

The whole household was much disturbed that day.  Mrs. Masters said nothing to Mary about Lady Ushant all the morning, but said a great deal about other things.  Poor Mary was asked whether she was not ashamed to treat a young man as she was treating Mr. Twentyman.  Then again it was demanded of her whether she thought it right that all the house should be knocked about for her.  At dinner Mrs. Masters would hardly speak to her husband but addressed herself exclusively to Dolly and Kate.  Mr. Masters was not a man who could, usually, stand this kind of thing very long and was accustomed to give up in despair and then take himself off to the solace of his office-chair.  But on the present occasion he went through his meal like a Spartan, and retired from the room without a sign of surrender.  In the afternoon about five o’clock Mary watched her opportunity and found him again alone.  It was incumbent on her to reply to Lady Ushant.  Would it not be better that she should write and say how sorry she was that she could not come?  “But I want you to go,” said he.

“Oh, papa;—­I cannot bear to cause trouble.”

“No, my dear; no; and I’m sure I don’t like trouble myself.  But in this case I think you ought to go.  What day has she named?” Then Mary declared that she could not possibly go so soon as Lady Ushant had suggested, but that she could be ready by the 18th of December.  “Then write and tell her so, my dear, and I will let your mother know that it is fixed.”  But Mary still hesitated, desiring to know whether she had not better speak to her mother first.  “I think you had better write your letter first,”—­and then he absolutely made her write it in the office and give it to him to be posted.  After that he promised to communicate to Reginald Morton what had been done.