ary should have a son, Mary's position
would be one which they could not afford to overlook. Though Mary
should be living in absolute rebellion with that horrid Dean, still her
Popenjoy would in course of time be the Popenjoy, and nothing that any
Germain could do would stand in her way. Her Popenjoy would be Popenjoy
as soon as the present Marquis should die, and the family estates would
all in due time be his! Her position had been becoming daily more
honourable as these rumours were received. Everyone at Manor Cross,
down to the boy in the kitchen, felt that her dignity had been
immeasurably increased. Her child should now certainly be born at Manor
Cross,--though the deanery would have been quite good enough had the
present Popenjoy been robust. Something must be done. The Marchioness
was clear that Mary should be taken into favour and made much of,--even
hinted that she should not be asked to make shirts and petticoats,--if
only she could be separated from the pestilential Dean. She spoke in
private to her son, who declared that nothing would separate Mary from
her father. "I don't think I could entertain him after what he did to
Brotherton," said the Marchioness, bursting into tears.

There were great consultations at Manor Cross, in which the wisdom of
Lady Sarah and Lady Susanna, and sometimes the good offices of Lady
Alice Holdenough were taxed to the utmost. Lady Sarah had since the
beginning of these latter troubles been Mary's best friend, though
neither Mary nor the Dean had known of her good services. She had
pretty nearly understood the full horror of the accusation brought by
the Marquis, and had in her heart acquitted the Dean. Though she was
hard she was very just. She believed no worse evil of Mary than that
she had waltzed when her husband had wished her not to do so. To Lady
Sarah all waltzing was an abomination, and disobedience to legitimate
authority was abominable also. But then Mary had been taken to London,
and had been thrown into temptation, and was very young. Lady Sarah
knew that her own life was colourless, and was contented. But she could
understand that women differently situated should not like a colourless
existence. She had seen Adelaide Houghton and her sister-in-law
together, and had known that her brother's lot had fallen in much the
better place, and, to her, any separation between those whom God had
bound together was shocking and wicked. Lady Susanna was louder and
less just. S