VII
Yet not from sight had she slipped ere feminine eyes could detect
The figure of Mary Charlworth. ‘It’s just what we all might expect,’
Was uttered: and: ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Of Mary the rumour resounds,
That she is now her own mistress, and mistress of five thousand pounds.
’Twas she, they say, who cruelly sent young Tom to the war.
Miss Mary, we thank you now! If you knew what we’re thanking you for!
VIII
But, ‘Have her in: let her hear it,’ called Grandfather Bridgeman, elate,
While Mary’s black-gloved fingers hung trembling with flight on the gate.
Despite the women’s remonstrance, two little ones, lighter than deer,
Were loosed, and Mary, imprisoned, her whole face white as a tear,
Came forward with culprit footsteps. Her punishment was to commence:
The pity in her pale visage they read in a different sense.