The Squire laughed and rallied Mary with the superficial good-nature which he always exhibited to strangers, and Cassandra looked at her across the table with grave, wistful eyes. Poor Mary Mallison with the starved, bloodless face, and the starved, bloodless mind,—could all the money in the world bring back her wasted youth? Could all the money in the world unlock the gate of joy? Cassandra felt a sudden rush of thankfulness for her own lot. Thank God, she had lived; she had experienced; she had suffered. If the best had been denied, she had been spared the worst,—the lot of a superfluous, unwanted woman!
After lunch the three guests were taken into the garden for a personally conducted tour before the general influx began. The Squire naturally selected Teresa as his companion, but by a little manoeuvring his wife contrived that he should be saddled with Mrs Mallison also, so that she herself should be left alone with Mary.
Cassandra wanted an opportunity of talking to Mary. Hitherto she had been merely a figurehead, a dull, dun-coloured person who walked by her mother’s side, replied in monosyllables when she was directly addressed, and apparently neither had, nor wished for, any existence of her own. But now it appeared that Mary was in revolt. Cassandra was conscious of a fellow-feeling.
She led the way down the sloping gardens, purposely increasing the distance from her husband and his companions, talking lightly on impersonal subjects until she could speak without fear of interruption. Then she turned to Mary with the very winsome smile which she reserved for occasions when she had special reason for wishing to please.
“Miss Mallison, I ran off with you, because I wanted an opportunity to tell you quietly how enchanted I am at your good fortune! It always delights me when nice things happen to women, and your nice thing is going to open the door to so many more. Five hundred a year, and the world before you, and no ties to keep you at home!—Mrs Mallison is so strong and active that it seems absurd to think of her as requiring help. I’m struggling with envy, for there is nothing at this moment that I should like so much as to feel free to go where I choose, and do what I choose, and even more than either, not to do what I don’t choose! My husband hates change, and you see I have sworn to obey!... Will you have to wait very long before you get your money? Lawyers are such wretches for procrastinating. If you are like me, you will want to start at once!”
“Yes,” said Mary flatly, “I do. And I am independent of lawyers. My godmother left instructions that I was to be given two hundred pounds at once. They sent me the cheque this morning.”
“What a pattern godmother! I should have adored that woman. I don’t need to know another thing about her. That tells it all. She had imagination; and she had a heart.”
“She knew mother,” said Mary terribly. She was staring ahead in her usual unseeing fashion, and was unconscious of her companion’s involuntary start of dismay. Never before had Cassandra heard a child speak of a parent in such grimly eloquent tones, and the instinct of centuries was shocked and distressed. She froze into herself, and when she spoke again her voice had a different tone. A moment before she had spoken as a friend, full of sympathy and fellow-feeling, now she was the Lady Cassandra Raynor, entertaining an insignificant guest.
“It’s all delightful; quite delightful. So there is nothing to delay your movements! Can I give you any addresses? I know of quite a good hotel in Paris, where I stay when I run over to buy frocks. Not too fashionable, but very comfortable. Quite ideal for a woman alone. And dressmakers too.” Cassandra thawed again at the introduction of a congenial subject. “Do go to my woman! She’s the most understanding creature, and knows exactly what will suit you before you have been in the room five minutes.” She screwed up her eyes, and looked Mary over with critical gaze. “I think it will be blue for you; a deep full blue, and just a touch of white at the throat.”
“I’ve worn blue serge coats and skirts almost every day of my life since I went to school. I’m sick of blue,” Mary said, and Cassandra laughed and shuddered at the same moment. It was so preposterous to compare Mary’s blue serge with Celine’s marvellous concoctions of subtly blended shades.