And Matt?
Well, her title to Monkshurst and the property was fully proved. For a long time she did not realize her good fortune, but gradually the pleasant truth dawned upon her in a sunrise of nice dresses, jewellery, and plenty of money. Chancery stepped in like a severe foster-parent, and sent her to school. There she remained for several years; but Charles Brinkley, who had first taken in hand the vindication of her claims, and who never ceased to be interested in her, saw her from time to time, and took particular note of her improvement in her grammar and the gentle art of speech.
“Matt,” he said, when they met last Christmas in London, and when he saw before him, instead of a towsy girl, as bright and buxom a young lady as ever wore purple raiment and fine linen, “Matt, you are ‘growed up’ at last!”
Matt blushed and hung her head, with a touch of her old manner.
“Yes, I am grown up, as you say. I wonder what William Jones would think if he saw me now?”
“And if he noticed those pretty boots, Matt, and heard you play the piano and prattle a little in French. Upon my word, it’s a transformation! You always were a nice girl, though.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Matt, shyly. “Did you always think so?”
“Certainly.”
“Even when I told you I liked you so much, and you told me ‘it wouldn’t do?”
It was Brinkley’s turn to blush now. It was clear that Matt, despite other changes, still retained her indomitable frankness.