"No; of all the nights in the year, you must stop out last night until twelve o'clock! I never knew you do such a thing before; well, as grandmother says, it is destiny; I am going to my room. I want no dinner; don't let them worry me, or worry about me."
Sitting alone she faced the circumstances she had evoked, considered them in every light, and came to a conclusion as to her future:
"I will go to London, and make no fuss about it," she decided; "here I should miss Ernest wherever I went; miss him in every way, and people would make me feel he was absent. I have been a great trouble and expense to grandfather and grandmother. I dare say they will be glad to be quiet and alone again. I don't know much about father—he has always been generous with money—but I wonder if he cared much for me! He sent me away, first to nurses, then to school; I saw little of him, but I can make him care. As for Madame, my stepmother, I shall not let her annoy me. And there will be Mrs. Gordon for a refuge, if I need one. She has always been good to me, and I will see her at once. I cannot help understanding that I am come to the end of this road; but there are many roads in life, and from this moment, I am on the way to London."
Evidently it was destiny, for there was never a let or hinderance in all her preparations. The Gordons took her as a godsend, and all her arrangements went without a hitch. And when it was known she was absolutely going away from New York there was a great access of kindness toward her. The young women she had known—and not always pleasantly—brought her good-bye mementoes; books to read on the voyage, book-marks of their own working, little bags and cases of various kinds for toilet needs, and needlework; and all were given with a conspicuous intention of apology for past offense and conciliation for any future intercourse.
Maria valued it pretty accurately. "It is far better than ill-will," she said to her grandmother; "but I dare say they think I am going home to be married, and as they all look forward to England eventually, they feel that Lady Medway may not be unserviceable in the future."
"Dinna look a gift-horse in the mouth, Maria. Few folks give away anything of real value to themselves. You needna feel under any special obligation for aught but the good will, and that's aye worth having. As for being Lady Medway, there is many a slip between cup and lip, and oceans between you and a' the accidents o' war, and love not unchangeable in this warld o' change; and there's your father's will that may stand in your road like a wall you can neither win round nor over. I'm real glad at this hour that your grandfather was wise enough to write naething about Lord Medway. You can now tell your ain news, or keep it, whichever seems best to you."
"Do you mean to say, grandmother, that my father has not been told about my engagement to Lord Medway?"
"Just so. At first your grandfather was too ill to write one thing or another; and by the time he was able to hold a pen, we had, baith o' us, come to the conclusion that silence anent the matter was wisdom. It would hae been a hard matter to tell, without telling the whole story, Police Court and young Bradley included, and then there was aye the uncertainty of a man's love and liking to be reckoned with; none o' us could be sure Lord Medway would hold to his promise; he might meet other women to take his heart from you; he might be killed in battle, or in a duel, for it is said he has fought three already; the chances o' the engagement coming to naething were so many on every side we came to the conclusion to leave a' to the future, and I'm sure we did the best thing we could do."
"I am so glad you did it, grandmother. I shall now go home on my own merits. If I win love, it will be because I am Maria Semple, not because I am going to be Lady Medway. And if my engagement was known I should never hear the last of it. I should be questioned about letters—whether they came or not; my stepmother might talk about the matter; my father insists on a public recognition of my position, and so on. There would be such endless discussions about Lord Medway that I should get weary to even hear his name. And I must bear my fate, whatever it is."
"Nonsense! Parfect nonsense! There is nae such thing as fate. You're in the care and guidance of a wise and loving Creator, and not in thrall to some vague, wandering creature, that you ca' Fate. Your ain will is your Fate. Commit your will and way to God, and He will direct your path; and you may snap your thumb and finger at that will o' the wisp—Fate!"