Marigold's thoughts reverted to the beginning of her Vicarage conversation. "There's something else too,—" she said, "something you'll be glad of. Mrs. Heavitree said I'd best not speak to mother, but I might to you." Then she told Plunkett about the doctor who was to arrive at the Vicarage, and about Mrs. Heavitree's kind intentions. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER IX. NOT SO BAD. RESENTMENT at Todd's declaration that "it was all a mistake," and that "he hadn't meant to marry nobody," gave Marigold a good deal of help in casting aside overmuch thought of him. Had he been grieved and disappointed only, she would have been grieved too; and he might have retained his power over her; but now Marigold's womanly self-respect was up in arms. Some girls seem to have no womanly self-respect at all, but Marigold happily was not deficient in this direction. If Todd counted it "all a mistake" that he had wanted to marry her, she would let nobody suppose that she wanted him. If Todd did not care for her, then she would not care for him. Of course in a measure she did care; though to her surprise, by no means so much as she would have expected. Todd had managed to win her liking, but not to stir her feelings deeply. That might have come later, had the affair been allowed to go on. At present it was mainly a question of gratified vanity, and of escape from home troubles. Wounded vanity was the best possible antidote to the former; and as for the latter, home troubles had lessened. Marigold found her time and thoughts much occupied with her stepmother; so much, that for hours together she often forgot Todd's very existence—a sure proof that her affections were not profoundly engaged. Mrs. Plunkett suffered much, and was weighed down by anxious depression, as well as weakness. But from the day when she allowed herself to speak out to Marigold, there was an extraordinary cessation of the extreme irritability. She reverted suddenly to her old self; the kind and amiable self, which they had known for three months only. She no longer struggled to keep up, or to do work for which she was utterly unfit. Marigold might arrange matters as she chose, and Mrs. Plunkett offered no opposition. It was easy now to be gentle and kind to one so passive; and love, no longer receiving a slap in the face at every other step, sprang into being, with a promise of rapid growth. "I'm sure I can't think how ever it was you seemed so different, Marigold, till these last few days," Mrs. Plunkett said musingly one afternoon. She had not come down till the middle of the day, and was suffering a good deal; but her face, though yellow and drawn, had lost much of its acidity. "Why, nothing I could do pleased you, and yet you're as good to me now—" "Mother! Why, nothing I could do pleased you," broke from the surprised Marigold. Mrs. Plunkett cast a puzzled glance backward.