“No.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Ay!” with a burst of tears.
Lady Bassett let her cry, thinking it would relieve her, and then spoke to her again with the languid pensiveness of a woman who has also her trouble. “You have been very attentive to Sir Charles, and a kind good servant to me, Mary.”
“You are mocking me, my lady,” said Mary, bitterly. “You wouldn't have turned me off for a word if I had been a good servant.”
Lady Bassett colored high, and was silenced for a moment. At last she said, “I feel it must seem harsh to you. You don't know how wicked it was to tempt me. But it is not as if you had done anything wrong. I do not feel bound to mention mere words: I shall give you an excellent character, Mary—indeed I have. I think I have got a good place for you. I shall know to-morrow, and when it is settled we will look over my wardrobe together.”
This proposal implied a boxful of presents, and would have made Mary's dark eyes flash with delight at another time; but she was past all that now. She interrupted Lady Bassett with this strange speech: “You are very kind, my lady; will you lend me the key of your medicine chest?”
Lady Bassett looked surprised, but said, “Certainly, Mary,” and held out the keys.
But, before Mary could take them, she considered a moment, and asked her what medicine she required.
“Only a little laudanum.”