“Where is my brother, sir—where is your master? and how dare you speak to a lady like that?” said Lord Frogmore.
Lord Frogmore! Saunders himself—whose countenance was a wonder to behold as he dropped the cue and backed against the table limp and helpless, his mouth open, his eyes bursting from their sockets with wonder and fright—was scarcely more discomposed than Mary, who felt herself in a moment vindicated, restored to her proper place, protected and avenged—yet at the same time more agitated and shaken than she had ever been in her life. She turned round and saw him before her, his eyes sparkling with anger, his neat small person towering, as it seemed, over the discomfited servants driven back by the first glance of him into servile humiliation. Lord Frogmore’s voice, which generally was a mild and rather small voice, thundered through the hall. “You disrespectful rascal! How dare you speak to a lady in that tone?”
“My lord!” Saunders cried, faltering. At first he could not even think of a word to say for himself. The footman discreetly stole away.
“My brother is absent, I suppose, and Mrs. Parke; and you cowardly scamp, you wretched snob, you take this opportunity——”
“Oh, Lord Frogmore, don’t be severe upon the man. He thought I had written about him to his mistress. Please don’t say any more.”
“I shall write about him to his mistress,” said Lord Frogmore, “or to his master, which will be more effectual. John Parke is no brother of mine if he does not turn such a fellow neck and crop out of the house. Get out of my sight, you brute, if you don’t want to be kicked out.” Saunders was twice Lord Frogmore’s size and half his age, but the old gentleman made him cower like a whipped dog. He made a faint effort to bluster.
“I’m responsible to my own master, my lord: I’ll answer to him.”
“By Jove,” said the old lord. “You shall answer to a sound thrashing if you stay here a moment longer. Out of my sight! Miss Hill,” he said, turning round and offering Mary his arm, “I suppose there is some room where I can say a word to you. It is clear that you cannot remain an hour longer in this house.”
CHAPTER XVI.
She took him upstairs to the morning-room, in which she had been living, and which was full of traces of her habitation and ways—the book on the table, the work, even the writing paper and the new pen which all this time she had been trying to use to answer his letter. Her heart was beating as wildly as if she had been a young girl—beating with pride, with pleasure, with gratitude, and with that satisfaction in being vindicated and re-established which it is impossible for human nature not to feel. It was no doubt a very poor foe who had thus been flung under her feet; but he had been able to humiliate and insult her. And Mary felt as proud of her deliverer as if he had faced the dragon. His very age and physical unimportance made her only the more conscious of the force and mastery he had shown—a man accustomed to command, accustomed to hold a foremost place. What a difference it had made to everything the moment he had appeared! The very atmosphere had changed. It had become impossible for any one in the world to show her anything but respect and reverence as soon as Lord Frogmore had come. What a difference! What a difference! Mary had never filled that imposing place, never had it made evident as a matter of certainty that wherever she appeared respect must necessarily attend her. She had been respected in her modesty by those who knew her. But no one had ever thought it necessary to give to Mary the first place. What a difference! The first inarticulate feeling in her mind was this which brought her up as upon a stream of new life. Everything had been different from the moment he had appeared. No more insult, no further call for self-assertion, no need to take any trouble. His presence did it all. Where he was there would always be honor, observance, regard.