But what as to Mary's love? Any such question was maunderingly soft. It was not for him to ask it. He did believe in her altogether, and was perfectly secure that his name and his honour were safe in her hands. And she certainly would learn to love him. "She'll stand the washing," he said to himself, repeating another morsel of Mrs Baggett's wisdom. And thus he made up his mind that he would, on this occasion, if only on this occasion, be stern and cruel. Surely a man could bring himself to sternness and cruelty for once in his life, when so much depended on it.
Having so resolved, he walked back into the house, intending to see Mary Lawrie, and so to speak to her as to give her no idea of the conversation which had taken place between him and John Gordon. It would not be necessary, he thought, that he should mention to her John Gordon's name any more. Let his marriage go on, as though there were no such person as John Gordon. It would be easier to be stern and cruel when he could enact the character simply by silence. He would hurry on his wedding as quickly as she would allow him, and then the good thing—the good that was to come out of sternness and cruelty—would be achieved.
He went through from the library to knock at Mary's door, and in doing so, had to pass the room in which Mrs Baggett had slept tranquilly for fifteen years. There, in the doorway, was a big trunk, and in the lock of the door was a key. A brilliant idea at once occurred to Mr Whittlestaff. He shoved the big box in with his foot, locked the door, and put the key in his pocket. At that moment the heads of the gardener and the groom appeared up the back staircase, and after them Mrs Baggett.
"Why, Mrs Baggett, the door is locked!" said the gardener.
"It is, to be sure," said the groom. "Why, Mrs Baggett, you must have the key in your own pocket!"
"I ain't got no such thing. Do you bring the box down with you."
"I have got the key in my pocket," said Mr Whittlestaff, in a voice of much authority. "You may both go down. Mrs Baggett's box is not to be taken out of that room to-day."
"Not taken out! Oh, Mr Whittlestaff! Why, the porter is here with his barrow to take it down to the station."
"Then the porter must have a shilling and go back again empty." And so he stalked on, to bid Miss Lawrie come to him in the library.
"I never heard of such a go in all my life;—and he means it, too," said Thornybush, the gardener.