"Mary, say that you will think of it once more," pleaded Mrs.
Masters.
"I may go up-stairs,--to my own room?"
"Certainly; do;--go up and smooth your hair. I will tell him that
you are coming to him. He will wait. But he is so much in earnest
now,--and so sad,--that I know he will not come again."
Then Mary went up-stairs, determined to think of it. She began at
once, woman-like, to smooth her hair as her stepmother had
recommended, and to remove the dust of the road from her face and
dress. But not the less was she thinking of it the while. Could she
do it, how much pain would be spared even to herself! How much that
was now bitter as gall in her mouth would become,--not sweet,--but
tasteless. There are times in one's life in which the absence of
all savour seems to be sufficient for life in this world. Were she
to do this thing she thought that she would have strength to banish
that other man from her mind,--and at last from her heart. He would
be there, close to her, but of a different kind and leading a
different life. Mrs. Masters had told her that Larry would be as
good a squire as the best of them; but it should be her care to
keep him and herself in their proper position, to teach him the
vanity of such aspirations. And the real squire opposite, who would
despise her,--for had he not told her that she would be despicable
if she married this man,--would not trouble her then.
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