"I don't think there was any one at Cheltenham. She was only there a month."
"I did fancy that perhaps that was one reason why she should want to go back."
"I don't believe it. I don't in the least believe it," said Reginald enthusiastically. "My aunt would have been sure to have seen it. It would have been impossible without her knowledge. But there is somebody?"
"I think so, Mr. Morton;—and if she does go to Cheltenham perhaps Lady Ushant had better know." To this Reginald agreed, or half agreed. It did not seem to him to be of much consequence what might be done at Cheltenham. He felt certain that the lover was not there. And yet who was there at Dillsborough? He had seen those young Botseys about. Could it possibly be one of them? And during the Christmas vacation the rector's scamp of a son had been home from Oxford,—to whom Mary Masters had barely spoken. Was it young Mainwaring? Or could it be possible that she had turned an eye of favour on Dr. Nupper's elegantly-dressed assistant. There was nothing too monstrous for him to suggest to himself as soon as the attorney had left him.
But there was a young man in Dillsborough,—one man at any rate young enough to be a lover,—of whom Reginald did not think; as to whom, had his name been suggested as that of the young man to whom Mary's heart had been given, he would have repudiated such a suggestion with astonishment and anger. But now, having heard this from the girl's father, he was again vexed, and almost as much disgusted as when he had first become aware that Larry Twentyman was a suitor for her hand. Why should he trouble himself about a girl who was ready to fall in love with the first man that she saw about the place? He tried to pacify himself by some such question as this, but tried in vain.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE DINNER AT THE BUSH.
Here is the letter which at his brother-in-law's advice Lord Rufford wrote to Arabella:
Rufford, 3 February, 1875.
My dear Miss Trefoil,
It is a great grief to me that I should have to answer your letter in a manner that will I fear not be satisfactory to you. I can only say that you have altogether mistaken me if you think that I have said anything which was intended as an offer of marriage. I cannot but be much flattered by your good opinion. I have had much pleasure from our acquaintance, and I should have been glad if it could have been continued. But I have had no thoughts of marriage. If I have said a word which has, unintentionally on my part, given rise to such an idea I can only beg your pardon heartily. If I were to add more after what I have now said perhaps you would take it as an impertinence.
Yours most sincerely,
Rufford.