And Ruth assured her she had acted wisely. "If trouble should ever come of this friendship," she said, "Dora would very likely complain that you had always thrown Mostyn in her way, brought him to her house in New York, and brought her to him at Rawdon, in England. Marriage is such a risk, Ethel, but to marry without the courage to adapt oneself. AH!"
"You think that condition unspeakably hard?"
"There are no words for it."
"Dora was not reticent, I assure you."
"I am sorry. A wife's complaints are self-inflicted wounds; scattered seeds, from which only misery can spring. I hope you will not see her again at this time."
"I made no promise to do so."
"And where all is so uncertain, we had better suppose all is right than that all is wrong. Even if there was the beginning of wrong, it needs but an accident to prevent it, and there are so many."
"Accidents!"
"Yes, for accident is God's part in affairs. We call it accident; it would be better to say an interposition."
"Dora told me Mostyn intended to buy Rawdon Court in September, and he has even invited the Stanhopes to stay there next summer."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing against it."
"Very good. Do you think Mostyn is in London now?"
"I should not wonder. I am sure Dora is expecting him."
In fact, the next morning they met Dora and Basil Stanhope, driving in Hyde Park with Mostyn, but the smiling greeting which passed between the parties did not, except in the case of Basil Stanhope, fairly represent the dominant feeling of anyone. As for Stanhope, his nature was so clear and truthful that he would hardly have comprehended a smile which was intended to veil feelings not to be called either quite friendly or quite pleasant. After this meeting all the joy went out of Ruth and Ethel's shopping. They wanted to get back to the Court, and they attended strictly to business in order to do so.
Mostyn followed them very quickly. He was exceedingly anxious to see and hear for himself how his affairs regarding Rawdon stood. They were easily made plain to him, and he saw with a pang of disappointment that all his hopes of being Squire of Rawdon Manor were over. Every penny he could righteously claim was paid to him, and on the title deeds of the ancient place he had no longer the shadow of a claim. The Squire looked ten years younger as he affectionately laid both hands on the redeemed parchments, and Mostyn with enforced politeness congratulated him on their integrity and then made a hurried retreat. Of its own kind this disappointment was as great as the loss of Dora. He could think of neither without a sense of immeasurable and disastrous failure. One petty satisfaction regarding the payment of the mortgage was his only com-fort. He might now show McLean that it was not want of money that had made him hitherto shy of "the good investments" offered him. He had been sure McLean in their last interview had thought so, and had, indeed, felt the half-veiled contempt with which the rich young man had expressed his pity for Mostyn's inability to take advantage at the right moment of an exceptional chance to play the game of beggaring his neighbor. Now, he told himself, he would show McLean and his braggart set that good birth and old family was for once allied with plenty of money, and he also promised his wounded sensibilities some very desirable reprisals, every one of which he felt fully competent to take.