Mary Gray | Page 6

sight of the market-basket. One of Lady Anne's
white-capped maids had come in and deposited it quietly.
"Mary?" she gasped. "What has become of Mary?"
"Pray don't frighten yourself," said Lady Anne. "I have a message from
Mary. She is at my house. As a matter of fact, she met with an accident.
There--don't go so pale. It is only a matter of time. Her arm is broken.
She got it broken in saving the life of my little Maltese, who had
strayed out and had got in the way of the tram. I always said that those
trams should not be allowed. The tracks are so very
unpleasant--dangerous even, for the carriages of gentlefolk. There is far
too much traffic allowed on the public highways nowadays, far too
much. People ought to walk if they cannot keep carriages."
She broke off abruptly and looked at the three small children.
"These are yours?" she asked. "They seem very close together in age."
"A year and a half, three years, four years and three months," said Mrs.
Gray, forgetting in her special cause for pride her awe of Lady Anne.
"Dear me, I should have thought they were all twins," said the old lady.
"How very remarkable! Have you any more?"
"Four at school. The eldest is nine. You see, they came so quickly, my
lady. Only for Mary I don't know how I should have reared them."
"H'm! Mary is very stunted. It struck me that she would have been tall
if she had had a chance. Those heavy babies, doubtless. Well, I am
going to keep Mary for a while. How will you do without her?"
Mrs. Gray's faded eyes filled with tears.

"I can't imagine, my lady. You see, we have never kept a servant. When
I lived at home with my Mamma we always had three. Mr. Gray has
literary attainments, my lady. He is not practical."
"I can send you an excellent charwoman," Lady Anne broke in, "for the
present. I will see what is to be done about Mary. The child has
rendered me an inestimable service. I must do something for her in
return. By the way, she is not your daughter?"
"My stepdaughter."
"Ah, I thought so. Well, the charwoman shall come in at once. She can
cook. Later on, we shall see--we shall see."
"By the way," said Lady Anne, coming back with a rustle of silks while
Mrs. Gray yet stood in bewilderment, holding the baby's frock in her
limp fingers. "By the way, Mary is very anxious about her father--how
he will take her accident. Will you tell your husband that I shall be glad
to see him when he comes home this evening?"
"I will, my lady," said Mrs. Gray; "and, my lady, would you please not
to mention to Mr. Gray about the charwoman? He's that proud; it would
hurt him, I'm sure. If he isn't told he'll never know she's there. A child
isn't as easily deceived as Walter."
"I shall certainly not tell him," Lady Anne said graciously. She did not
object to the honest pride in Walter Gray. He was probably a superior
man for his station, being Mary's father. As for that poor slattern, Lady
Anne had lived too long in the world to be amazed by the marriages
men made, either in her own exalted circle or in those below it.
Walter Gray came, in a flutter of tender anxiety, at half-past six in the
evening, to Lady Anne's garden, where Mary was sitting in her wicker
chair under the mulberry tree. Lady Anne had given orders that he was
to be shown out to the garden when he called.
"My poor little girl!" he said, with an arm about Mary's shoulder.

Then he took off his hat to Lady Anne. There was respect in his manner,
but nothing over-humble, nothing to say that they were not equals in a
sense. His eyes, at once bright and dreamy, rested on her with a
friendly regard.
"The man has gentle blood in him somewhere," said the old lady to
herself. She had a sense of humour which kept her knowledge of her
own importance from becoming overweening. "I believe his respect is
for my age, not for my rank. I wonder what the world is coming to!"
She went away then and left the father and daughter together. Walter,
who had taken a chair by Mary's, looked with a half-conscious pleasure
round the velvet sward on which the shadows of the trees lay long. The
trees were at their full summer foliage, dark as night, mysterious,
magnificent.
"What a very pleasant place!" Walter Gray said, with grave enjoyment.
"How sweet the evening smells are! How quiet everything is! Who
could believe that Wistaria Terrace was over