d Tom knew well that Mary Armsworth had her own way, and managed her
father as completely as he managed Whitbury.

"Humph! It is impossible; and yet it must be. This explains his being so
anxious that Lord Minchampstead should approve of me. I have found
favour in the poor dear thing's eyes, I suppose: and the good old fellow
knows it, and won't betray her, and so shams tyrant. Just like him!"
But--that Mary Armsworth should care for him! Vain fellow that he was to
fancy it! And yet, when he began to put things together, little
silences, little looks, little nothings, which all together might make
something. He would not slander her to himself by supposing that her
attentions to his father were paid for his sake: but he could not forget
that it was she, always, who read his letters aloud to the old man: or
that she had taken home and copied out the story of his shipwreck.
Beside, it was the only method of explaining Mark's conduct, save on the
supposition that he had suddenly been "changed by the fairies" in his
old age, instead of in the cradle, as usual.

It was a terrible temptation; and to no man more than to Thomas
Thurnall. He was no boy, to hanker after mere animal beauty; he had no
delicate visions or lofty aspirations; and he knew (no man better) the
plain English of fifty thousand pounds, and Mark Armsworth's daughter--a
good house, a good consulting practice (for he would take his M.D. of
course), a good station in the county, a good clarence with a good pair
of horses, good plate, a good dinner with good company thereat; and,
over and above all, his father to live with him; and with Mary, whom he
loved as a daughter, in luxury and peace to his life's end.--Why, it was
all that he had ever dreamed of, three times more than he ever hoped to
gain!--Not to mention (for how oddly little dreams of selfish pleasure
slip in at such moments!)--that he would buy such a Ross's microscope!
and keep such a horse for a sly by-day with the Whitford Priors! Oh, to
see once again a fox break from Coldharbour gorse!

And then rose up before his imagination those drooping steadfast eyes;
and Grace Harvey, the suspected, the despised, seemed to look through
and through his inmost soul, as through a home which belonged of right
to her, and where no other woman must dwell, or could dwell; for she was
there; and he knew it; and knew that, even if he never married till his
dying day, he should sell his soul by marrying any one but