ing rather red, 'I am not sure that he could do much better. I know nothing whatever against Mary. Frank, however, cannot afford to make such a match. It would be his ruin.'
'Of course it would; utter ruin: he never could hold up his head again. Therefore it is I ask, What is it you intend to do?'
The squire was bothered. He had no intention whatever of doing anything, and no belief in his wife's assertion as to Dr. Thorne's iniquity. But he did not know how to get her out of the room. She asked him the same question over and over again, and on each occasion urged on him the heinousness of the insult to which she personally had been subjected: so that at last he was driven to ask her what it was she wished him to do.
'Well, then, Mr. Gresham, if you ask me, I must say, that I think you should abstain from any intercourse with Dr. Thorne whatever.'
'Break off all intercourse with him?'
'Yes.'
'What do you mean? He has been turned out of this house, and I'm not to go to see him at his own.'
'I certainly think that you ought to discontinue your visits to Dr. Thorne altogether.'
'Nonsense, my dear; absolute nonsense.'
'Nonsense! Mr. Gresham; it is no nonsense. As you speak in that way, I must let you know plainly what I feel. I am endeavouring to do my duty by my son. As you justly observe, such a marriage as this would be utter ruin to him. When I found that the young people were actually talking of being in love with each other, making vows and all that sort of thing, I did think it time to interfere. I did not, however, turn them out of Greshamsbury, as you accuse me of doing. In the kindest possible manner—'
'Well—well—well; I know all that. There, they are gone, and that's enough. I don't complain; surely that ought to be enough.'
'Enough! Mr. Gresham. No; it is not enough. I find that, in spite of what has occurred, the closest intimacy exists between the two families; that poor Beatrice, who is so very young, and not so prudent as she should be, is made to act as a go-between; and when I speak to the doctor, hoping that he will assist me in preventing this, he not only tells me that he means to encourage Mary in her plans, but positively insults me to my face, laughs at me for being an earl's daughter, and tells me—yes, he absolutely told me—to get out of his house.'
Let it be told with some shame as to the squire's conduct, that his first feeling on hearing this was one of envy—of envy
