They rose early, and having dressed, bethought them of what to do.
“I’ve thought over and over again the best course for you to adopt,” said Bessie, who had already been tacitly acknowledged to be commander-in-chief; “and the more I consider, the more I feel convinced that my first idea is the best.”
“And what might that be?” inquired her companion.
“You will become a fine lady—that’s what you are destined to be.”
Mrs. Bristow laughed at the naive manner of the speaker.
“Ah, you may laugh; but I tell you that’s what will happen. I’ve laid it all down as nicely as possible. Listen. There is no place in England, so I’ve been told, equal to London for concealment. You must take up your abode there, change your name, and no one will suspect that you are the wife of a poor mechanic.”
“Change my name!”
“Most certainly you must do that. Pass yourself off as a widow.”
“I should never have the courage to do that.”
“You must; don’t tell me you haven’t courage. What matters—who’s to know? You have money, and to the possessor of money everybody pays homage. We all know that.”