“Read this when you are alone, and likely to be uninterrupted. It is nothing wrong. Don’t be frightened.”
But frightened of course she was, and thankful to be able at once to satisfy herself.
“Nothing wrong!” It would have been difficult to judge from Mary’s face, when she looked up after finishing the letter, what had been the nature of its contents. Like Lilias, her first impression was one of such utter bewilderment that it seemed as if her brain were refusing to take in the facts before her. She got up from her seat, pushed her hair back from her forehead, and tried to think reasonably and rationally. But it was difficult.
“Can I be dreaming?” she said to herself. “Mamma heir to all the Brookes’ property! Can it be true? Oh, papa, poor papa—he must be told. Only last night again he was talking to me of his racking anxiety about our future; it is so impressed on him that he is not going to live long. And, as Lilias says, this news may be fresh life to him.”
She sat down again, and for some minutes allowed her fancy to run riot in the new world so suddenly opened before her. To be rich! How extraordinary the idea seemed to her—no more furrows on her father’s face of anxiety as to the future, no more daily worries for her mother about butchers’ and grocers’ books and servants’ wages and everlasting new boots for the boys; plenty of books and music, and pretty dresses even, which in her heart Mary was by no means given to despise, for herself and Lilias; a first-rate governess for the girls—unlimited power as well as will to help their poorer neighbours—a pretty and luxurious home, something like Romary, perhaps! A flush rose to Mary’s cheek at the thought—what would the Cheviotts think of this marvellous news? Would it increase or diminish the separation between them? Was it possible that even yet all might come right between Lilias and Arthur Beverley, or had Lilias quite left off caring for him? Was it—? Her speculations were suddenly brought to a close—a tap at the door reminded her of the present, and recalled her to the consideration of how and when she should first break this astonishing revelation to her parents.
“Consult with mamma,” Lilias had said. Yes, of course, that was the first thing to be done. But to get hold of her mother alone for an uninterrupted talk was by no means so easy as it seemed, just now especially, since Mr Western’s failing health had rendered him exigeant and capricious in a way quite foreign to his ordinary character.
The tap at the door was repeated.
“Come in,” cried Mary, starting up as she spoke.
“How can I when the door is locked?” said her mother’s voice.
Mary hastened to unlock it.