And she had not even begun to think what she should do.
That seemed a sort of affront to her godmother's memory, at all events,
until some one had made it clear to her. But now, in a moment, with her
first consciousness of the importance of this matter in the sight of
others, a consciousness of what it was to herself, came into her mind. A
change of everything,--a new life,--a new world; and not only so, but a
severance from the old world,--a giving up of everything that had been
most near and pleasant to her.
These thoughts were driven through her mind like the snowflakes in a
storm. The year had slid on since Lady Mary's death. Winter was beginning
to yield to spring; the snow was over, and the great cold. And other
changes had taken place. The great house had been let, and the family who
had taken it had been about a week in possession. Their coming had
inflicted a wound upon Mary's heart; but everybody had urged upon her the
idea that it was much better the house should be let for a time, "till
everything was settled." When all was settled, things would be different.
Mrs. Vicar did not say, "You can then do what you please," but she did
convey to Mary's mind somehow a sort of inference that she would have
something to do it with. And when Mary had protested. "It shall never be
let again with my will," the kind woman had said tremulously, "Well, my
dear!" and had changed the subject.
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