The Nether Millstone

by Fred M. White

Ralph paused, there was a strange, tender thrill in his voice. Lady Dashwood seemed to catch some of his enthusiasm, for a smile lighted her face.

"You are a clever lad, my dear," she said, "you are one of those who compel Fate to work for them. Well, it shall be as you desire, so far as I am concerned. And now let us go down and see what the others are doing."

Mary was nowhere to be seen, but Mr. Dashwood was in the library. He seemed more calm and resigned now; he was reading a letter which appeared to give him some satisfaction.

"From--from Sir Vincent," he said, getting the name out with some difficulty. "I suppose we must call the young fellow by his proper title now. Still, he will of course, have to satisfy the family solicitors first."

"I have one or two further proofs that will induce the family solicitors to maintain a policy of silence," Ralph said. "The best thing to do is quietly to accept the new situation. People will talk for a day or two, and then the incident will be forgotten."

"I suppose so," Dashwood muttered. "Anyway, this is from--er--Sir Vincent. I am bound to confess that it is not at all a bad letter. Between ourselves, the fellow is by no means a gentleman. Still, that's not quite his own fault, probably his mother was quite a common sort of person. I beg your pardon, Lady Dashwood."

"We need not go into that," Ralph said hastily. "Sir Vincent has written to you----"

"Really quite a nice letter. He has a suggestion to make. It appears that he is by no means disposed to stay quietly here and live the life of a country landlord. He does not care for sport to begin with, in fact, he dislikes a rural life. And he seems to think that marriage is--is not good enough. He therefore proposes that Mary and myself should look upon Dashwood as our present home, that Mary should take her place as mistress there. Really, this gets us out of a great difficulty. I have no money beyond a pittance of a hundred or so a year, and Mary has nothing whatever. As a sensible girl, she will accept this offer."

Ralph said nothing. It was not for him to persuade George Dashwood one way or another. He rather despised the weak creature who had posed as the head of the family. But Ralph could give a shrewd guess at Mary's answer.

Mary came back presently a little before tea-time. She had been over at the Hall, she said, looking after certain belongings of her own. The trace of tears was still on her face, but her small mouth had a steely purpose. She lay back in her chair in the great hall, sipping her tea, and looking out into the garden beyond. Ever and again there came a yearning look in her eyes. She said nothing, and vouchsafed no information, when a footman brought her a telegram presently. With a guilty air her father placed Vincent Dashwood's letter in her hand.