Guardian Angel's last benediction to
her had been to make the very arrangement she would have chosen for
herself had she been put to it to make choice. That her mind had never
mooted the point was a detail, which retrospect corrected. She was
ashamed to find she was so glad to fly from Mrs. Masham and Company, and
already began to be uneasy lest she had misjudged them. But then--a
plaguy old cat!

However, the decision of this at present did not arise from the
circumstances. What did was that, in less than the hour Mr. Brantock's
cart could concede, she was seated therein, comfortably wrapped up,
beside this really very nice and congenial saddler's relict, having been
somehow dressed, breakfasted, and generally adjusted by hands which no
doubt had acquired the sort of skill a hospital nurse gets--without the
trenchant official demeanour which makes the patient shake in his shoes,
if any--by her considerable experience of convalescents of all sorts and
the smaller sizes.

Mr. Brantock's cart jogged steadily on by cross-cuts and by-roads at the
dictation of parcels whose destinations Mr. Brantock's horse bore in
mind, and chose the nearest way to, allowing his so-called driver to
deliver them on condition that the consignees paid cash. His harness
stood in the way of his doing so himself. Think what it was that was
concealed from old Maisie and Widow Thrale respectively, as they
travelled in Mr. Brantock's cart. The intensity of this mother's and
daughter's ignorance of one another outwent the powers of mere language
to tell.

To the mother the daughter was the very nice young--relatively
young--woman who had taken such good care of Dave last year, who was now
so very kind and civil as to take charge of an old encumbrance at the
bidding of a glorious Guardian Angel, who had dawned on these last days
suddenly, inexplicably! An encumbrance at least, and no doubt plaguy, or
she never would have been called an old cat.

To the daughter the mother was a good old soul, to be made much of and
fostered; nursed if ill, entertained if well; borne with if, as might
be, she developed into a trial--turned peevish, irritable, what not! Had
not Gwen o' the Towers spoken, and was not the taint of Feudalism still
strong in Rocestershire half a century back? Gwen o' the Towers had
spoken, and that ended the matter.

Otherwise they were no more conscious of each other's blood in their own
veins than was the convalescent Toby, who enli