The household was very much disturbed the whole of that evening.  Poor Mary never remembered such a state of things, and when there had been any difference of opinion, she had hitherto never been the cause of it.  Now it was all owing to her!  And things were said so terrible that she hardly knew how to bear them.  Her father had promised her the twenty pounds, and it was insinuated that all the comforts of the family must be stopped because of this lavish extravagance.  Her father sat still and bore it, almost without a word.  Both Dolly and Kate were silent and wretched.  Mrs. Masters every now and then gurgled in her throat, and three or four times wiped her eyes.  “I’m better out of the way altogether,” she said at last, jumping up and walking towards the door as though she were going to leave the room,—­and the house, for ever.

“Mamma,” said Mary, rising from her seat, “I won’t go.  I’ll write and tell Lady Ushant that I can’t do it.”

“You’re not to mind me,” said Mrs. Masters.  “You’re to do what your papa tells you.  Everything that I’ve been striving at is to be thrown away.  I’m to be nobody, and it’s quite right that your papa should tell you so.”

“Dear mamma, don’t talk like that,” said Mary, clinging hold of her stepmother.

“Your papa sits there and won’t say a word,” said Mrs. Masters, stamping her foot.

“What’s the good of speaking when you go on like that before the children?” said Mr. Masters, getting up from his chair.  “I say that it’s a proper thing that the girl should go to see the old friend who brought her up and has been always kind to her,—­and she shall go.”  Mrs. Masters seated herself on the nearest chair and leaning her head against the wall, began to go into hysterics.  “Your letter has already gone, Mary; and I desire you will write no other without letting me know.”  Then he left the room and the house,—­and absolutely went over to the Bush.  This latter proceeding was, however, hardly more than a bravado; for he merely took the opportunity of asking Mrs. Runciman a question at the bar, and then walked back to his own house, and shut himself up in the office.

On the next morning he called on Reginald Morton and told him that his daughter had accepted Lady Ushant’s invitation, but could not go till the 18th.  “I shall be proud to take charge of her,” said Reginald.  “And as for the change in the day it will suit me all the better.”  So that was settled.

On the next day, Friday, Mrs. Masters did not come down to breakfast, but was waited upon up-stairs by her own daughters.  This with her was a most unusual circumstance.  The two maids were of opinion that such a thing had never occurred before, and that therefore Master must have been out half the night at the public-house although they had not known it.  To Mary she would hardly speak a word.  She appeared at dinner and called her husband Mr. Masters when she helped him to stew.  All the afternoon she averred that her