THE UNFINISHED WORD
Mary placed her hand to her head in utter bewilderment. The world seemed to have changed in the last few hours. Hitherto, life at Dashwood had progressed on oiled springs, calm and peaceful. There was the regular decently appointed day, with its routine of refined duties, the dinner and the pleasant contemplation of placid evenings. Mary had swung like a proud planet in the still atmosphere. And now everything had passed into the wildest topsy-turveydom.
Even Lady Dashwood had altered. The quiet, self-contained woman, whose very restfulness had been one of her greatest charms! The sweet expression of her face had vanished; she looked aged and anxious, almost fierce.
"What does it all mean?" Mary asked. "What has come to everything and everybody? It seems almost impossible to believe that here at Dashwood----"
"Trouble comes; but trouble comes everywhere. It enters the palace as easily as the cottage, my child. And my fault, all of it. But come outside and talk to me. Mary, you must have nothing to do with that man!"
"But how do you know?" Mary asked. "I--I am not yet certain myself. Who could have told you anything?"
"But you are certain, child. You had made up your mind. The misery of your face tells me so. And you sent a note to that man. Would you have done so unless you had made up your mind to surrender?"
Mary looked down, and the red of shame flamed into her face. Come what would, she could not turn to either side and escape humiliation.
"Slight told me," Lady Dashwood went on. "He came to me at once. My dear, you must not be angry with old Slight. He worships the very ground you walk on; he would lay down his life for you. And he knows everything; I shrewdly suspect that he knows even more than I do. Slight is something more than a servant, he is a valued friend of the family. And he came to me as I have said. He tells me that Horace Mayfield has got his wicked fingers in here; that he has plotted to make you his wife. That must not be, Mary, that must never take place. Surely you can defy that man, can order him out of the house."
"I could," Mary said slowly, "I am not afraid of him. As yet I have not pledged my word. Still, I am quite helpless. Look into the drawing-room and see for yourself. . . . That is what we have to put up with, three of them for the best part of a week. By eight o'clock tomorrow morning the servants will know everything; before the day is out we will be the talk of the county. I could not show my face after that. The degradation would make me old before my time. It is not as if I cared nothing for Dashwood. I love every stick and stone of it, the place is part of my being. It was your house for nearly forty years. Can't you understand my feelings?"