The woman gasped. She could not possibly do such a thing.
"Very well," Mary went on, serene in her victory, "you need not stay any longer. I'll go out and get change, and let you have the sovereign without delay."
The woman vanished with a respectful salutation. Mary crossed over to her writing-case.
"My education is growing apace," she laughed, "my dearest Connie, will you be so good as to tell me the way to the nearest pawn-broker's?"
[CHAPTER XLVI.]
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE
The lights in the great silver candlesticks at the dower house shed a soft radiance over the dinner-table where Lady Dashwood sat alone. It was not yet dark, the saffron glow of the setting sun still struggled with the candles. Most of the dishes had been removed, and little remained but the peaches and the nectarines and the great bloom tinted grapes in the silver baskets.
Lady Dashwood sat there alone. She had peeled one of the russet and golden peaches, but the fragrant luscious fruit lay neglected on her plate. Her mind was far away from her surroundings.
The peacefulness of the night suited her more or less painful meditations. The same spirit of refinement and rest seemed to brood over the house; it seemed hard to associate a place like that with misery. And, perhaps, on the whole, Lady Dashwood was not altogether unhappy.
She had more or less expected Ralph Darnley to dinner, but he had declined at the last moment. He had written to say that he might have the pleasure of coming later, but even as to that he was not quite certain.