The attorney was still a little radiant with his triumph about the cheque and was also pleased with his own discernment in the matter of Goarly. He had learned that morning from Nickem that Goarly had consented to take 7s. 6d. an acre from Lord Rufford and was prepared to act "quite the honourable part" on behalf of his lordship. Nickem had seemed to think that the triumph would not end here, but had declined to make any very definite statements. Nickem clearly fancied that he had been doing great things himself, and that he might be allowed to have a little mystery. But the attorney took great credit to himself in that he had rejected Goarly's case, and had been employed by Lord Rufford in lieu of Goarly. When he entered the parlour he had for the moment forgotten Larry Twentyman, and was disposed to greet his girl lovingly;—but he found her dissolved in bitter tears. "Mary, my darling, what is it ails you?" he said.
"Never mind about your darling now, but come to breakfast. She is giving herself airs,—as usual."
But Mary never did give herself airs and her father could not endure the accusation. "She would not be crying," he said, "unless she had something to cry for."
"Pray don't make a fuss about things you don't understand," said his wife. "Mary, are you coming to the table? If not you had better go up-stairs. I hate such ways, and I won't have them. This comes of Ushanting! I knew what it would be. The place for girls is to stay at home and mind their work,—till they have got houses of their own to look after. That's what I intend my girls to do. There's nothing on earth so bad for girls as that twiddle-your-thumbs visiting about when they think they've nothing to do but to show what sort of ribbons and gloves they've got. Now, Dolly, if you've got any hands will you cut the bread for your father? Mary's a deal too fine a lady to do anything but sit there and rub her eyes." After that the breakfast was eaten in silence.
When the meal was over Mary followed her father into the office and said that she wanted to speak to him. When Sundown had disappeared she told her tale. "Papa," she said, "I am so sorry, but I can't do what you want about Mr. Twentyman."
"Is it so, Mary?"
"Don't be angry with me, papa."
"Angry! No;—I won't be angry. I should be very sorry to be angry with my girl. But what you tell me will make us all very unhappy;—very unhappy indeed. What will you say to Lawrence Twentyman?"
"What I said before, papa."
"But he is quite certain now that you mean to take him. Of course we were all certain when you only wanted a few more days to think of it." Mary felt this to be the cruellest thing of all. "When he asked me I said I wouldn't pledge you, but I certainly had no doubt. What is the matter, Mary?"