"That is a most improper observation to make," Dashwood said peevishly. "A most impertinent remark to address to a father."
"I am very sorry," Mary said penitently, "it seemed the only word to use. And it does hurt me so dreadfully to see how coolly you have cast your pride aside. If you will come with me, father, I will work for both. We should at any rate have the consolation of knowing that we have done nothing to sully the name of Dashwood."
The girl spoke pleadingly, with a yearning tenderness in her voice that Ralph had never heard before. He was rejoiced to see the lesson of adversity working so soon. For his own part, he could not have resisted that seductive invitation.
"Certainly not," Dashwood replied. "Nothing of the kind. I have no desire to make the acquaintance of what people call apartments. I went to see a poor friend of mine in apartments once. I saw his dinner. Good heavens! what a repulsive mess it was. Served up by a red-headed maid-of-all-work, with a black smudge on her face. No, no, I prefer the graceful hospitality of my friend--er--Sir Vincent Dashwood."
Mary turned in the direction of the door as if the discussion were closed.
"I am disappointed," she said. "But there is nothing to be gained by standing here talking over my determination. I am going as far as the Hall to say goodbye to some of the old servants, and hope to catch the 7.05 train to London. As I said before, I know where to go when I reach my journey's end."
Mary passed out into the peaceful sunshine of the garden. Lady Dashwood looked imploringly at Ralph, who smiled in reply. From the bottom of his heart, he was feeling for the girl, but he did not falter in his purpose. It was very brave of Mary, but at the same time very pathetic. Ralph stole after the lonely figure; he found her standing by the old sundial in the garden. Her fingers were tracing idly over the quaint inscription on the stone. Ralph could see that her eyes were filled with tears.
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" he asked.
"I'm afraid not," Mary whispered. "And you are the only friend I have, besides Lady Dashwood. I have not the art of making friends: I never had sympathy with the pastimes and pleasures of the ordinary girl of my class; I did not feel lonely here, because it was so lovely a place. Dashwood Hall was always sufficient for me. And now when I come to leave it, it breaks my heart to go. You will laugh at me perhaps, but I have a strange feeling as if I had the whole world to myself and that there was nobody else in it. It is as if everybody had turned away from me. There was even something that hurt me today in the way that Mr. Mayfield let me know that I was free as far as he was concerned. I dread the thought of living by myself in London, the idea makes me tremble. I, who have been so cold and proud, will have to approach people and ask favours at their hands. I hope you understand me; it is dreadful when nobody understands me."
Ralph made no reply for a moment, he was afraid to trust his own voice.