r answer, and then she had gone in to scold the
maids.

As soon as she had heard of the intended dinner-party, she attacked
Mary Lawrie. "So you're going to see this young man again?"

"Mr Whittlestaff is going to dine at Little Alresford, and intends
to take me with him."

"Oh yes; that's all very well. He'd have left you behind if he'd
been of my way of thinking. Mr Gordon here, and Mr Gordon there! I
wonder what's Mr Gordon! He ain't no better than an ordinary miner.
Coals and diamonds is all one to me;--I'd rather have the coals for
choice." But Mary was not in a humour to contest the matter with Mrs
Baggett, and left the old woman the mistress of the field.

When the time arrived for going to the dinner, Mr Whittlestaff took
Mary in the pony carriage with him. "There is always a groom about
there," he said, "so we need not take the boy." His object was, as
Mary in part understood, that he should be able to speak what last
words he might have to utter without having other ears than hers to
listen to them.

Mary would have been surprised had she known how much painful thought
Mr Whittlestaff gave to the matter. To her it seemed as though he
had made up his mind without any effort, and was determined to abide
by it. He had thought it well to marry her; and having asked her,
and having obtained her consent, he intended to take advantage of
her promise. That was her idea of Mr Whittlestaff, as to which she
did not at all blame him. But he was, in truth, changing his purpose
every quarter of an hour;--or not changing it, but thinking again and
again throughout the entire day whether he would not abandon himself
and all his happiness to the romantic idea of making this girl
supremely happy. Were he to do so, he must give up everything. The
world would have nothing left for him as to which he could feel the
slightest interest. There came upon him at such moments insane ideas
as to the amount of sacrifice which would be demanded of him. She
should have everything--his house, his fortune; and he, John Gordon,
as being a part of her, should have them also. He, Whittlestaff,
would abolish himself as far as such abolition might be possible.
The idea of suicide was abominable to him--was wicked, cowardly, and
inhuman. But if this were to take place he could wish to cease to
live. Then he would comfort himself by assuring himself again and
again that of the two he would certainly make the better husband. He
was older. Yes;