Mary glanced haughtily at the speaker. There was an air of command, a suggestion of possession, about the speech that the girl resented. Who was Ralph Darnley that he should adopt this tone towards her? And at the same time Mary knew that he was the one friend she had, if she did not count Lady Dashwood. It was a melancholy confession, but Mary had made no friends. For the most part members of her own sex did not like her, she was too cold and self-contained for them. She did not enter into their sentiments and pleasures. It had not been the girl's own fault so much as the fault of her environment. And now she was going out into the world alone with a few pounds in her possession, and with not a soul to give her a helping hand. There was something very pathetic about it, Ralph thought. She knew so very little as to what lay before her. "I wish you would wait till tomorrow," he murmured. "No," Mary said with a proud toss of her head. "It is not the slightest use trying to break my resolution. I tell you I could not remain here, I could not stay even with Lady Dashwood, knowing that my father was sponging on the good nature of the man at the Hall. It seems a dreadful thing to me----" "That is a most improper observation to make," Dashwood said peevishly. "A most impertinent remark to address to a father." "I am very sorry," Mary said penitently, "it seemed the only word to use. And it does hurt me so dreadfully to see how coolly you have cast your pride aside. If you will come with me, father, I will work for both. We should at any rate have the consolation of knowing that we have done nothing to sully the name of Dashwood." The girl spoke pleadingly, with a yearning tenderness in her voice that Ralph had never heard before. He was rejoiced to see the lesson of adversity working so soon. For his own part, he could not have resisted that seductive invitation. "Certainly not," Dashwood replied. "Nothing of the kind. I have no desire to make the acquaintance of what people call apartments. I went to see a poor friend of mine in apartments once. I saw his dinner. Good heavens! what a repulsive mess it was. Served up by a red-headed maid-of-all-work, with a black smudge on her face. No, no, I prefer the graceful hospitality of my friend--er--Sir Vincent Dashwood." Mary turned in the direction of the door as if the discussion were closed. "I am disappointed," she said. "But there is nothing to be gained by standing here talking over my determination. I am going as far as the Hall to say goodbye to some of the old servants, and hope to catch the 7.05 train to London. As I said before, I know where to go when I reach my journey's end."