But then, as she walked slowly round the garden, she found herself bound to inquire of herself whether what the woman said had not been true. Did she not eat his bread; did she not wear his clothes; were not the very boots on her feet his property? And she was there in his house, without the slightest tie of blood or family connection. He had taken her from sheer charity, and had saved her from the terrible dependency of becoming a friendless governess. Looking out to the life which she had avoided, it seemed to her to be full of abject misery. And he had brought her to his own house, and had made her the mistress of everything. She knew that she had been undemonstrative in her manner, and that such was her nature. But her heart welled over with gratitude as she thought of the sweetness of the life which he had prepared for her. Was not the question true? "What am I, that I should stand in the way and prevent such a man as that from having what he wants?"
And then she told herself that he personally was full of good gifts. How different might it have been with her had some elderly men "wanted her," such as she had seen about in the world! How much was there in this man that she knew that she could learn to love? And he was one of whom she need in no wise be ashamed. He was a gentleman, pleasant to look at, sweet in manner, comely and clean in appearance. Would not the world say of her how lucky she had been should it come to pass that she should become Mrs Whittlestaff? Then there were thoughts of John Gordon, and she told herself that it was a mere dream. John Gordon had gone, and she knew not where he was; and John Gordon had never spoken a word to her of his love. After an hour's deliberation, she thought that she would marry Mr Whittlestaff if he asked her, though she could not bring herself to say that she would "sit close up to him" in order that he might do so.
CHAPTER IV.
MARY LAWRIE ACCEPTS MR WHITTLESTAFF.
By the end of the week Mary Lawrie had changed her mind. She had thought it over, and had endeavoured to persuade herself that Mr Whittlestaff did not care about it very much. Indeed there were moments during the week in which she flattered herself that if she would abstain from "sitting close up to him," he would say nothing about it. But she resolved altogether that she would not display her anger to Mrs Baggett. Mrs Baggett, after all, had done it for the best. And there was something in Mrs Baggett's mode of argument on the subject which was not altogether unflattering to Mary. It was not as though Mrs Baggett had told her that Mr Whittlestaff could make himself quite happy with Mrs Baggett herself, if Mary Lawrie would be good enough to go away. The suggestion had been made quite in the other way, and Mrs Baggett was prepared altogether to obliterate herself. Mary did feel that Mr Whittlestaff ought to be made a god, as long as another woman was willing to share in the worship with such absolute self-sacrifice.
At last the moment came, and the question was asked without a minute being allowed for consideration. It was in this wise. The two were sitting together after dinner on the lawn, and Mrs Baggett had brought them their coffee. It was her wont to wait upon them with this delicacy, though she did not appear either at breakfast or at dinner, except on remarkable occasions. She now had some little word to say, meant to be conciliatory and comforting, and remarked that "surely Miss Mary meant to get a colour in her cheeks at last."
"Don't be foolish, Mrs Baggett," said Mary. But Mrs Baggett's back was turned, and she did not care to reply.
"It is true, Mary," said Mr Whittlestaff, putting his hand on her shoulder, as he turned round to look in her face.
"Mrs Lawrie used to tell me that I always blushed black, and I think that she was about right."