In the course of the winter, Lady de Courcy tried very hard to induce the heiress to visit Courcy Castle, and this request was so backed by Lady Arabella, that the doctor said he thought she might as well go there for three or four days. But here, again, Mary was obstinate.
'I don't see it at all,' she said. 'If you make a point of it, or Frank, or Mr. Gresham, I will go; but I can't see any possible reason.' The doctor, when so appealed to, would not absolutely say that he made a point of it, and Mary was tolerably safe as regarded Frank or the squire. If she went, Frank would be expected to go, and Frank disliked Courcy Castle almost more than ever. His aunt was now more than civil to him, and, when they were together, never ceased to compliment him on the desirable way in which he had done his duty by his family.
And soon after Christmas a visitor came to Mary, and stayed a fortnight with her: one whom neither she nor the doctor had expected, and of whom they had not much more than heard. This was the famous Miss Dunstable. 'Birds of a feather flock together,' said Mrs. Rantaway—late Miss Gushing—when she heard of the visit. 'The railway man's niece—if you can call her a niece—and the quack's daughter will do very well together, no doubt.'
'At any rate, they can count their money-bags,' said Mrs. Umbleby.
And, in fact, Mary and Miss Dunstable did get on very well together; and Miss Dunstable made herself quite happy at Greshamsbury, although some people—including Mrs. Rantaway—contrived to spread a report, that Dr. Thorne, jealous of Mary's money, was going to marry her.
'I shall certainly come and see you turned off,' said Miss Dunstable, taking leave of her new friend. Miss Dunstable, it must be acknowledged, was a little too fond of slang; but then, a lady with her fortune, and of her age, may be fond of almost whatever she pleases.
And so by degrees the winter wore away—very slowly to Frank, as he declared often enough; and slowly, perhaps, to Mary also, though she did not say so. The winter wore away and the chill, bitter, windy, early spring came round. The comic almanacs gives us dreadful pictures of January and February; but, in truth, the months which should be made to look gloomy in England are March and April. Let no man boast himself that he has got through the perils of winter till at least the seventh of May.
It was early in April, however, that the great doings were to be done at Greshamsbury. Not exactly on the first. It may be
