"But," he added, "you have been put to great expense for the
foolish girl, and, when she leaves you, I desire you will let me
know--"
"Thank you, Mr. Wardour!" said Mary, who had risen also. "As you
have now given a turn to the conversation which is not in the
least interesting to me, I wish you a good evening."
With the words, she left the room. He had made her angry at last.
She trembled so that, the instant she was out of sight of the
house, she had to sit down for dread of falling.
Godfrey remained in the room where she left him, full of
indignation. Ever since that frightful waking, he had brooded
over the injury--the insult, he counted it--which Letty had
heaped upon him. A great tenderness toward her, to himself
unknown, and of his own will unbegotten, remained in his spirit.
When he passed the door of her room, returning from that terrible
ride, he locked it, and put the key in his pocket, and from that
day no one entered the chamber. But, had he loved Letty as purely
as he had loved her selfishly, he would have listened to Mary
pleading in her behalf, and would have thought first about her
well-being, not about her character in the eyes of the world. He
would have seen also that, while the breath of the world's
opinion is a mockery in counterpoise with a life of broken
interest and the society of an unworthy husband, the mere fact of
his mother's receiving her again at Thornwick would of itself be
enough to reestablish her position in the face of all gainsayers.
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