The Hoyden | Page 4

or their ponies, or anything else belonging to them. Well! They tore along as if possessed----"
"The Warburtons?"
"No, the ponies; don't be silly?"
"Such a relief!"
"And I really think they would have taken me over a precipice. You can see"--holding out her exquisite little hands--"how inadequate these would be to deal with the Warburton ponies. But for the timely help of an elderly gentleman and a young girl--she looked a mere child----"
"This Miss Bolton?"
"Yes. The old gentleman caught the ponies' heads--so did the girl. You know my slender wrists--they were almost powerless from the strain, but that _girl!_ her wrists seemed made of iron. She held and held, until the little wretches gave way and returned to a sense of decency."
"Perhaps they are made of iron. Her people are in trade, you say? It is iron, or buttons, or what?"
"I don't know, I'm sure, but at all events she is an heiress to quite a tremendous extent. Two hundred thousand pounds, the Warburtons told me afterwards; even allowing for exaggeration, still, she must be worth a good deal, and poor dear Maurice, what is he worth?"
"Is it another riddle?" asks Mrs. Bethune.
"No, no, indeed! The answer is plain to all the world. The Warburtons didn't know these people, these Boltons (so silly of them, with a third son still unmarried), but when I heard of her money I made inquiries. It appeared that she lived with her uncle. Her father had died early, when she was quite young. Her mother was dead too; this last was a great comfort. And the uncle had kept her in seclusion all her life. They are nobodies, dear Marian! Nobodies at all, but that girl has two hundred thousand pounds, and can redeem the property of all its mortgages--if only Maurice will let her do it."
"But how did you ask her here?"
"How? What is simpler? The moment the Warburtons told me of the wealth that would be that girl's on her marriage (I was careful to make sure of the marriage point), I felt that an overpowering sense of gratitude compelled me to go and call on her. She and her uncle were new-comers in that county, and--it is very exclusive--so that when I did arrive, I was received with open arms. I was charming to the old uncle, a frosty sort of person, but not objectionable in any way, and I at once asked the niece to pay me a visit. They were flattered, the uncle especially so; I expect he had been wanting to get into Society--and as for the girl, she seemed overcome with delight! A very second-class little creature I thought her. No style! No suppression of her real feelings! She said at once how glad she would be to come to me; she gave me the impression that she would be glad to get away from her uncle! No idea of hiding anything! So strange!"
"Strange enough to be almost a fresh fashion. Fancy her saying she would be glad to come to _you!_ No wonder you were startled!"
"Well, she's here," says Lady Rylton, furling her fan. Mrs. Bethune's little sarcasm has been lost upon her. "And now, how to use her? Maurice, though I have thrust the idea upon him, seems averse to it."
"The idea?"
"Of marrying her, of course, and so redeeming himself. She is not what I would have chosen for him, I admit that; but all things must give way before the ruin that threatens us."
"Yes; true--all things," says Mrs. Bethune in a low tone.
"You see that. But how to bring Maurice to the point? He is so very difficult. _You,_ Marian--you have influence with him----"
"I?"
Mrs. Bethune rises in the slow, beautiful fashion that is hers always; she moves towards the window. There is no hurry, no undue haste, to betray the disquietude of her soul.
"You--you, of course," says Lady Rylton peevishly. "I always rely upon you."
"I have no influence!"
"You mean, of course, that you will not use it," says Lady Rylton angrily. "You still think that you will marry him yourself, that perhaps his uncle will die and leave him once more a rich man--the master of The Place, as the old Place's master should be; but that is a distant prospect, Marian."
Mrs. Bethune has swung around, her beautiful figure is drawn up to its most stately height.
"Not another word!" says she imperiously. "What have I to do with your son? Let him marry--let him marry----" She pauses as if choking, but goes on again: "I tell you I have no influence--_none!_ Appeal to Margaret, she may help you!"
"She--no!"
"Hush! here she is. Yes; ask her," says Mrs. Bethune, as if desirous of letting Lady Rylton hear the opinion of the new-comer on this extraordinary subject.

CHAPTER II.
HOW MARGARET PLEADS FOR THE LITTLE HOYDEN, AND WITH WHAT ILL-SUCCESS.

Margaret Knollys, entering