“Don’t mention his name,” cried Mrs. Parke, “never shall I think of him as a brother. Do you think I’ve no pride and no feeling for my family. How would you like if your black sheep--if the one that was no credit--turned up just when you wanted to put your best foot foremost. Oh, Mary Hill! I don’t blame you, but he never would have come but for you.” “You are quite mistaken, there,” said Mary, with a dignity in which there was some touch of irritation, too. “And I am glad to say there is no black sheep in my----” Her voice sank as she added this--and a compunction seized her and broke the sentence short--for to be sure the black sheep in the family is the misfortune and not the fault of the rest, and Mary felt it was ungenerous to remind Letitia of her own better fortune. She went on, with a little eagerness to conceal this error. “If I can do anything, Letitia--but I don’t know what I can do.” “No, nor I,” said Letitia, but then she said with a softened voice, “you might go down and see what they’re doing. I can’t be ready in a moment, it takes some time to get into one’s dress when one is all of a tremble as I am. You might go down and stand between Frogmore and Ralph. Oh, I know you could do it. And there is Duke, the little wretch, listening to all Ralph’s stories. Send him up to me straight off.” “I--go down! But I don’t know Lord Frogmore--and Ralph.” “I hope you know Ralph at least. Mary Hill! You told me this moment you would do anything--but the moment I name the one thing, the only thing I ask of you----” Mary wrung her hands but turned away and went downstairs. She had never been used to resist when anything was asked of her. It had been her part in the world always to do what was insisted upon, what it was necessary to do. She went downstairs, almost counting the steps in her reluctance, hoping that Letitia might relent and call her back, yet knowing very well that nothing would make Letitia relent. After her conversation this morning with Ralph to go back as it seemed voluntarily into the room where he was, to go as he would think on purpose to have a last word with him was intolerable to her. Her natural modesty and reticence was intensified by the primness, old maidenly scruples which had come upon her with the advancing years and made her pride more sensitive and her fear of compromising herself more great. And before Lord Frogmore, who would think--what might he not think? Poor Mary went slowly across the hall. Oh, if Letitia only knew what it was to put such a commission upon her--but Letitia had such different ways of thinking--Letitia might perhaps have found it no trial at all.