Jeffray bowed to his aunt’s personal prejudices none the less, and despatched a servant with a note to the rectory, desiring Dr. Sugg to postpone his daughter’s visit for a few days, since the Lady Letitia had a great dread lest she should be exposed to infection.
Richard rode over to Hardacre that morning to discover that Miss Jilian by no means approved of his suggestion that Mary Sugg should take up her residence with him at the priory. She was surprised that Richard should even have imagined such a thing, Trifling as the matter appeared, Jeffray felt rebuffed and mortified. He had expected Jilian to give her immediate consent to the plan, and behold, she seemed every wit as shocked as the Lady Letitia. What had come to the women? Had poor Mary Sugg been some lovely creature with pink cheeks and irreligious eyes, then there might have been some reason for this pother.
“I am sorry if I have offended you, Jilian,” he said, a little haughtily, “but it was a mere matter of neighborly courtesy. I have known Mary Sugg from childhood.”
Miss Hardacre proceeded to demonstrate that she possessed a very decided will of her own, and that even a purring, kittenish creature had claws.
“Richard, you are most unreasonable,” she argued, “and I am sure the Lady Letitia advised you very sensibly. Why, the girl may be sickening already. You might catch it from her—and give the disease to me.”
Jeffray made her a polite bow.
“I ask your pardon,” he retorted; “it is plain to me that I have not considered the question selfishly enough. I will see Dr. Sugg and explain the situation.”
“You need not tell the man that I objected, Richard.”
“Not?”
“La, sir, the responsibility is yours, is it not? What have I to do with Mary Sugg?”