The Nether Millstone

by Fred M. White

The girl drew up her head with an air of pride, she never seemed quite to forget what the family required of her. It was in moments like these that Ralph loved her least. It was this very foolish self-consciousness that he desired to conquer.

"It does not require a Dashwood to do that," he said. "Thousands of people make these noble sacrifices every day, and take no credit to themselves for it. When you get out into the world you will see another kind of pride and courage and devotion that will put your fetish to shame. If I were to say that this is the best thing that could happen to you, you would laugh the idea to scorn. Nevertheless, it is absolutely true. What money have you?"

"Perhaps thirty pounds," Mary explained; "and certain articles of jewelry. But I am not going to part with them like the girl in the story did."

Ralph felt by no means so sure of that, but he said nothing. He was very silent till the dower house was reached, silent and a little guilty too, for he it was who had brought this about. He was sending Mary into the world to battle for her life alone. On the whole, he was not sorry that the girl had refused Lady Dashwood's offer of a home; that was a specimen of the right kind of pride at any rate. And yet, now that the hour of Mary's departure drew near, he dreaded the parting. After all, the experiment was a cruel one, it was not yet too late to save the situation.

Lady Dashwood was crying now; the dogcart stood by the great stone porch; Dashwood fidgeted about in a half-shamed kind of way, yet frowning disapproval of the whole business.

"Really, we are making a deal of fuss about nothing," he said. "Anybody would think that Mary was being led away to instant execution, instead of behaving in a way that makes me thoroughly ashamed of her. It is my clear duty to exercise my parental authority. As it is I am not going to do anything of the kind. Mary shall have her lesson. She will very soon get tired of playing the part of the unattached female. She will be back in a week."

And this was Mary's farewell greeting as she drove away from the dower house. She kept her face steady, and looked neither right nor left, not that she could see anything, for her eyes were blinded with tears. Behind the tears, one vision stood out bright and clear--the strong, reliant face of Ralph Darnley, the warm pressure of whose grip still tingled on Mary's fingers. It was good to know that she had one true friend.

The station was reached at last, and Mary was alone. She dismissed the dogcart; she did not want the groom to see that she was going to travel third class. It was rather a snobbish idea, and Mary despised herself for it accordingly. The porter and the ticket officer looked astonished as Mary asked the third-class fare to Victoria. How little things seemed to remind her of what had been!

"I am going third," she said firmly. "Will you please to see that my two baskets are placed in the luggage van, Gibbons?"

Gibbons touched his cap respectfully. It was the last outward recognition of her social station that Mary was destined to receive for some time to come. She had a vague idea of a carriage to herself, where she could have an hour or so to regain her composure. She had never had any difficulty in this way when travelling before. But first-class passengers, liberal towards the guard, and third-class trippers, are different things, as Mary speedily discovered. The train was very full, so full that Mary was content at last to find herself packed with nine other people in a stuffy compartment, including a crying child and a surly workman, who smoked a foul pipe and spat liberally on the floor. One window was closed for the benefit of the fretting infant and the poisonous atmosphere of the place caused Mary to turn faint and giddy. Long before she reached Victoria her head was aching, her temples throbbing horribly.