"Thank you, dearest mother, for the permission; I will go, but not until I have arranged everything for their comfort. And one thing I must request of you, father, that you never treat me as a servant before Gilbert's wife."
"Oh, if you mean to take yourself off, Dolly, you may as well go altogether. Gilbert's wife's a lady; she won't put up with airs from the like o' you."
"Ah, there it is, father, you are kind enough when we are alone, but the moment any one comes into the house you treat me as an object of charity, especially if you think them rich and well-born. But I tell you candidly that I have too much self-respect to bear it any longer. If you cannot value my love and faithful services, I have friends who stand as high in the world's estimation, who do. You may find Gilbert's wife a woman more to your taste, but she will never be a better daughter to you than I have been."
"Nobody found fault with you, girl, that you should go off in a tantrum about naught. It's only just your envy of Gilly's rich wife, that makes you saucy to me. In course, as my son's wife, she must be a person of more consequence in the house than ever you can be. It's neither kind nor grateful o' you to be talking of leaving your mother when she be unable to help herself."
Mrs. Rushmere cast a pleading look at Dorothy, to take no notice of this ungracious speech. He had an ugly habit, she often said, of undervaluing his best friends before strangers which sprang out of an overweening sense of his own importance, and a wish to exalt himself at the expense of others.
Dorothy took Mrs. Rushmere's hint, and left the room to prepare for the arrival of the bridal party. She was vexed with herself for resenting Mr. Rushmere's coarse speeches, and pressed Lord Wilton's letter which she had in her bosom, more closely against her heart. While she possessed the esteem of such men as the Earl, Henry Martin, and Gerard Fitzmorris, why need she mind the ungenerous sarcasm of an illiterate man.
Calling Polly, the parish apprentice, to her aid, she set diligently to work, and before the dinner hour arrived, their united efforts had made the two chambers fit for the reception of their expected inmates.
Dorothy did not mean to share her bed with Gilbert's mother-in-law, and though she felt much regret in leaving the dear little room she had occupied for so many years, she greatly preferred sleeping alone in the attic. Thither she removed her little store of books, her pots of geraniums and fuchsias, the small trunk that held her clothes, and a few keepsakes she had been given by the kind Martins. What to do with the check she had received from Lord Wilton, she did not know. She was astonished that such a small slip of paper could stand for such a large sum of money. She felt dreadfully afraid of losing it, and determined to show it to Mr. Fitzmorris, and ask him to keep it for her, together with the mysterious sealed packet, which she had a great longing to read. "And I am afraid I shall do it, if it remains in my own possession," she said, "though I know it would be very wicked."
When the rooms were put in order, and everything looked as clean and bright as new pins, as Polly said, Dorothy led Mrs. Rushmere upstairs to inspect them, and see if they were entirely to her satisfaction.
"They look like yourself, my darling Dorothy," said Mrs. Rushmere, falling on her neck and kissing her. "Neat and beautiful. Oh! my beloved child, you don't know how I feel for you. How much I dread the coming of these strange women. It do seem to me so odd that he should marry all on a suddent, an' never tell us a word about it. An' he so weak an' ill, from the loss o' his arm."