Mary Marston | Page 9

Hesper, were much pleased with
Mary. The simplicity of her address and manner, the pains she took to
find the exact thing she wanted, and the modest decision with which
she answered any reference to her, made Hesper even like her. The
most artificially educated of women is yet human, and capable of even
more than liking a fellow-creature as such. When their purchases were
ended, she took her leave with a kind smile, which went on glowing in
Mary's heart long after she had vanished.
"Home, John," said Lady Margaret, the moment the two ladies were
seated. "I hope you have got all you wanted. We shall be late for
luncheon, I fear. I would not for worlds keep Mr. Redmain waiting.--A
little faster, John, please."
Hesper's face darkened. Sepia eyed her fixedly, from under the
mingling of ascended lashes and descended brows. The coachman
pretended to obey, but the horses knew very well when he did and
when he did not mean them to go, and took not a step to the minute
more: John had regard to the splendid-looking black horse on the near
side, which was weak in the wind, as well as on one fired pastern, and
cared little for the anxiety of his mistress. To him, horses were the final
peak of creation--or if not the horses, the coachman, whose they
are--masters and mistresses the merest parasitical adjuncts. He got them

home in good time for luncheon, notwithstanding--more to Lady
Margaret's than Hesper's satisfaction.
Mr. Redmain was a bachelor of fifty, to whom Lady Margaret was
endeavoring to make the family agreeable, in the hope he might take
Hesper off their hands. I need not say he was rich. He was a common
man, with good cold manners, which he offered you like a handle. He
was selfish, capable of picking up a lady's handkerchief, but hardly a
wife's. He was attentive to Hesper; but she scarcely concealed such a
repugnance to him as some feel at sight of strange fishes--being at the
same time afraid of him, which was not surprising, as she could hardly
fail to perceive the fate intended for her.
"Ain't Miss Mortimer a stunner?" said George Turnbull to Mary, when
the tide of customers had finally ebbed from the shop.
"I don't exactly know what you mean, George," answered Mary.
"Oh, of course, I know it ain't fair to ask any girl to admire another,"
said George. "But there's no offense to you, Mary. One young lady
can't carry every merit on her back. She'd be too lovely to live, you
know. Miss Mortimer ain't got your waist, nor she ain't got your 'ands,
nor your 'air; and you ain't got her size, nor the sort of hair she 'as with
her."
He looked up from the piece of leno he was smoothing out, and saw he
was alone in the shop.

CHAPTER III
.
THE ARBOR AT THORNWICK.
The next day was Sunday at last, a day dear to all who do anything like
their duty in the week, whether they go to church or not. For Mary, she
went to the Baptist chapel; it was her custom, rendered holy by the
companionship of her father. But this day it was with more than
ordinary restlessness and lack of interest that she stood, knelt, and sat,
through the routine of observance; for old Mr. Duppa was certainly
duller than usual: how could it be otherwise, when he had been
preparing to spend a mortal hour in descanting on the reasons which
necessitated the separation of all true Baptists from all brother-believers?
The narrow, high-souled little man--for a soul as well as a forehead can

be both high and narrow--was dull that morning because he spoke out
of his narrowness, and not out of his height; and Mary was better
justified in feeling bored than even when George Turnbull plagued her
with his vulgar attentions. When she got out at last, sedate as she was,
she could hardly help skipping along the street by her father's side. Far
better than chapel was their nice little cold dinner together, in their only
sitting-room, redolent of the multifarious goods piled around it on all
the rest of the floor. Greater yet was the following pleasure--of making
her father lie down on the sofa, and reading him to sleep, after which
she would doze a little herself, and dream a little, in the great chair that
had been her grandmother's. Then they had their tea, and then her father
always went to see the minister before chapel in the evening.
When he was gone, Mary would put on her pretty straw bonnet, and set
out to visit Letty Lovel at Thornwick. Some of the church- members
thought this habit of taking a walk,