"Who would ask me to marry, my dearest? And even if they did, the buried past would come out of the grave—and——"
She slightly raised both hands in deprecation of this mournful resurrection.
"Well, I have all to go through with my people yet."
"They won't prevent you?" Miss Blanchet asked anxiously.
"They can't. In a few months I should be my own mistress; and what is the use of waiting? Besides, they don't really care—except for the sake of showing authority and proving to girls that they ought to be contented slaves. They know now that I am no slave. I do believe my esteemed step-father—or step-stepfather, if there is such a word—would consent to emancipate me if he could do so with the proper ceremonial—the slap on the cheek."
The allusion was lost on Miss Blanchet.
"Mr. Saulsbury is a stern man indeed," she said, "but very good; that we must admit."
"All good men, it seems, are hard, and all soft men are bad."
"What of Mr. Augustus Sheppard?" Miss Blanchet asked softly. "How will he take your going away?"
"I have not asked him, Mary. But I can tell you if you care to know. He will take it with perfect composure. He has about as much capacity for foolish affection as your hearth-broom there."