ent.

CHAPTER III

THE NEW ESTATE

Mary took the news of her great promotion in an unthankful spirit.

"Lady Anne is very kind," she said tearfully; "but I don't want to stay
with her. I couldn't bear to live anywhere but in Wistaria Terrace. It
is absurd that you should say you have given your consent, papa. How
could you possibly have consented when the house could not get on
without me? You know it could not. Why, even for a day things would be
all topsy-turvy without me."

"And so you have not gone to school," the father answered, with an
accent of self-reproach. "You have been weighed down with
responsibilities and cares that you ought to have been free of for years
to come. You have even been stunted in your growth, as Lady Anne said.
It is time things were altered. I don't know how I was so blind. We
ought to be grateful to the accident that has opened a door to us."

When he had gone, Lady Anne came and comforted Mary. There was a deal of
kindness in the old lady's heart.

"You shall help them," she said. "Dear me, how much help you will be
able to give them! Imagine beginning with a salary at fifteen! You are
to leave things to me, Mary. I have sent help to your stepmother--an
excellent woman, Mrs. Devine, whom I have known for many years. She is
very capable. I will tell her that she must remain with your stepmother.
It is amazing what one really capable woman can do. And afterwards there
will be the salary."

The salary, and perhaps a quick, warm feeling for Lady Anne which sprang
up suddenly in Mary's heart, settled the question. After all, as Lady
Anne said, despite her greatness she was very lonely. She had lost her
son and her grandson, and she could not endure her nephew or his family.
She had only a few old cronies. As a matter of fact, although she had
taken a fancy to Mary Gray and captured the child's susceptible heart,
she was not a particularly amiable or lovable old lady to the rest of
the world. She was too keen-sighted and sharp-tongued to be popular.

Mary slept that night in such a room as she had never dreamt of. There
was a little bed in the corner of it with a flowing veil of white,
lace-trimmed muslin like a baby's cot. There was white muslin tied with
blue ribbons at the window, and the dressing-table was as gaily and
innocently adorned. There was a work-box on a little table, a
writing-desk on another; a shelf of books hung on the wall. The room had
really been made re