“It cannot be Mary Wythburn! I must surely have met her sometimes if it had been she!” exclaimed Tom, forgetting herself for a moment.
“But you do not know Mr. Knight’s place or people, do you, Tom?” inquired one of her sisters.
“I do a little—that is, one or two of them. I went to see a poor woman I heard of who was ill near that neighbourhood. But Mary Wythburn! Is it possible?”
“We had better tell Mr. Knight about Mary,” suggested Mr. Whitwell, and John Dallington related the incident of the frustrated wedding. When his friend had heard the story he was very doubtful as to Miss Wythburn and the Basket Woman being the same individual.
“My Paradise Grove friend is far too sensible to have acted in that manner,” he said.
“But I have a feeling that it is she,” said Tom. “I wish we had Mary’s portrait that we might show it to Mr. Knight. Margaret Miller has one, I will borrow it in the morning.”
“You will be able to spend to-morrow with us, Mr. Knight?” queried Mrs. Whitwell. “I am sure you will be interested in what my husband is doing for his tenants.”
“I shall have to leave about midday, unfortunately,” he said. “I have made an appointment with the Basket Woman, who has been vainly trying to waylay me for some time. She wishes to make a suggestion to me on behalf of the people. The next day I have to be in Granchester again.”
“That is where Dr. Stapleton’s rich brother lives. I wonder if the doctor will go to your meeting, Mr. Knight?” Then followed a little account of the doctor’s doings as far as they were known.
The time passed all too quickly, although they talked far into the night. Next morning John Dallington left early, and Arthur Knight had a country ride with his host over the farm and along the roads. Tom was a good horsewoman, and she accompanied them. Arthur enjoyed a long talk with her; but she was determined not to give him the chance of seeing her alone. He was intensely interested. He found her so pleasantly piquant, so merry and entertaining, that sometimes he wondered if she had two natures; for there was little to remind him of the sweet singer who had comforted the blind woman only a short time before. He had no opportunity to refer to the incident, or to say a word of their past meetings, only as he was leaving Tom said, softly, “Give my love to Sissie when next you see her, and also to the Basket Woman, if she should prove to be Mary Wythburn.”