Mrs. Meyrick, whose affection for her was not diminished, was downright vexed. “Dear me!” said she; “I did think I had kept that from vexing of you. To think of the dear child hiding it for nigh two years, and then to blurt it out like that! Nobody heard him I hope?”
“Others heard; but—”
“Didn't heed; the Lord be praised for that.”
“Mary,” said Lady Bassett, solemnly, “I am not equal to another battle with Mr. Richard Bassett; and such a battle! Better tell all, and die.”
“Don't think of it,” said Mary. “You're safe from Richard Bassett now. Times are changed since he came spying to my gate. His own boy is gone. You have got two. He'll lie still if you do. But if you tell your tale, he must hear on't, and he'll tell his. For God's sake, my lady, keep close. It is the curse of women that they can't just hold their tongues, and see how things turn. And is this a time to spill good liquor? Look at Sir Charles! why, he is another man; he have got flesh on his bones now, and color into his cheeks, and 'twas you and I made a man of him. It is my belief you'd never have had this other little angel but for us having sense and courage to see what must be done. Knock down our own work, and send him wild again, and give that Richard Bassett a handle? You'll never be so mad.”
Lady Bassett replied. The other answered; and so powerfully that Lady Bassett yielded, and went home sick at heart, but helpless, and in a sea of doubt.
Mr. Angelo did not call. Sir Charles asked Lady Bassett if he had called on her.
She said “No.”
“That is odd,” said Sir Charles. “Perhaps he thinks we ought to welcome him home. Write and ask him to dinner.”
“Yes, dear. Or you can write.”