"Stop, mother. The girl is as pure as
any in the county: I'll swear it. You
mustn't think because I spoke as I did just
now that there has been anything between
us . . . I was a fool for saying what I did,
but the injustice of the thing struck me.
It is such a confounded shame that she
should be made to suffer for my fault . . .
You see I am what you would call désœuvré
here . . . I have nothing to do——"

"Whose fault is that, mon enfant?
What am I always telling you? If you
would but marry and range yourself, and
take the management of the estate into
your own hands."

"Well, we won't enter upon that old
discussion again now . . . I was going to say
that, having nothing on earth to do here,
and finding this Mary Hind a pleasant,
well-spoken girl, I have chatted with her
once or twice. That is the whole history
out of which these miserable servants
have concocted their scandalous lies. Now,
it is too bad that the girl should lose her
place, and you a maid who suits you, to
gratify their spite. You'll never get
another to read Le Grand Cyrus to you,"
added the young man artfully.

Mrs. Cartaret was in sad perplexity:
between her son and Rouse, she was on the
horns of a dilemma; and then there was her
own inclination and her sense of what was
prudent under the circumstances gently
pulling her in different directions. She
cleared her throat loudly, and shook her
head, and frowned, and muttered several
times that it was "impossible;" and then
with a half-fierce, half-piteous expression
of face looked up at her son and said:

"Will you promise never to speak to
her, if she remains — eh?"

"I will promise never to repeat my
conduct of last night."

"No, no, that is not enough, you must
not give the servants cause to talk by speaking
with her, do you understand?"

"How is it possible to promise that?
It is nonsense, mother. But look here.
You see the girl, and talk to her. Mind
you say you're perfectly sure she is not to
blame, and apologise to her for my
conduct. But do what you will, I'm afraid
you will find she is so mortally offended
with me that it will be uncommonly hard
to get her to stay, and you'll then understand
how absurdly groundless your fears
are."

After some further hesitation, Mrs.
Cartaret consented to do this. Lowndes left
the room; but he was too deeply interested
in the result of the interview between
his mother and her maid to go further
than the adjoining boudoir: and he
left the door a-jar. Mrs. Cartaret rang the
bell.

Maud obeyed the summons, looking pale
and stern. Before her mistress could speak,
the girl began proudly:

"I will save you the trouble of giving
me warning, ma'am. Mrs. Rouse has, of
course, told you what occurred last night.
Perhaps she has put her own construction
on it — no matter. I am ready to go when
you like — to-day, if you please — indeed,
the sooner, the better."

"Stay, Mary Hind, do not be in too
great hurry — yes — I know what occurred
—I know that my son strangely forgot
himself — and he is much ashamed of
himself, my dear. That is true; you may
believe it. I am very sorry — very sorry,
indeed, Mary, and I——" (here the old
lady hesitated a moment, and insensibly
lowered her voice, as though half-ashamed
of her weakness) — "and I hope you will
not go on this account, eh? It shall not
occur again; he promises it, foi de gentilhomme.
I know it was not the least your
fault, my dear. He is a wild boy, you see
—jeunesse — but he has not a bad heart,
no, and you must forgive him this once,
eh? voyons. Think no more about it,
and I will take care that he does not
trouble you again. Du reste, he will be
going in a few days."

A world of conflicting feelings were in
Maud's breast. Ought the old lady's words,
or anything else, to induce her to remain
here after the insult to which she had been
subjected? Her pride said "no;" but
there was another voice, which pleaded
loudly with her to yield. And as she
stood there, silent, for some minutes, her
back turned to the bed, her face towards
the window, Mrs. Cartaret, understanding
something (not all) of what was passing
in the girl's mind, exclaimed:

"Tenez! He shall tell Rouse himself
—there! That shall make it all straight,
hein? She is — well a little — just a little
jalouse, you see (what did I tell you?
why have you not made her your friend?)
but she shall believe the truth; yes, and
she shall not repeat the story: there shall
be no scandale: I will not have it. I like
you, Mary Hind. I cannot spare — you do
you hear? You must not go, because this
mauvais garçon of mine has behaved a
little badly, hein? Come, say you will stay,
and forget it all."