She had never, she said, wanted to put her finger
into a pie that didn't belong to her. She had never tried to be a
grand lady. But Mary was perilously near the brink on either side,
and as it was to be her lucky fate at last to sit down to a
plentiful but work-a-day life at Chowton Farm she ought to have
been kept away from the maundering idleness of Lady Ushant's
lodgings at Cheltenham. But Mary heard nothing of this during these
two days, Mrs. Masters bestowing the load of her wisdom upon her
unfortunate husband.
Reginald Morton had been twice over at Mrs. Masters' house with
reference to the proposed journey. Mrs. Masters was hardly civil to
him, as he was supposed to be among the enemies;--but she had no
suspicion that he himself was the enemy of enemies. Had she
entertained such an idea she might have reconciled herself to it,
as the man was able to support a wife, and by such a marriage she
would have been at once relieved from all further charge. In her
own mind she would have felt very strongly that Mary had chosen the
wrong man, and thrown herself into the inferior mode of life. But
her own difficulties in the matter would have been solved. There
was, however, no dream of such a kind entertained by any of the
family. Reginald Morton was hardly regarded as a young man, and was
supposed to be gloomy, misanthropic, and bookish.
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