"Oh—I forgot. You were all for that stupid James Wilson. Well! if I've ever the luck to go witness on a trial, see if I don't pick up a better beau than the prisoner. I'll aim at a lawyer's clerk, but I'll not take less than a turnkey."
Cast down as Mary was, she could hardly keep from smiling at the idea, so wildly incongruous with the scene she had really undergone, of looking out for admirers during a trial for murder.
"I'd no thought to be looking out for beaux, I can assure you, Sally.—But don't let us talk any more about it; I can't bear to think on it. How is Miss Simmonds? and everybody?"
"Oh, very well; and by the way she gave me a bit of a message for you. You may come back to work if you'll behave yourself, she says. I told you she'd be glad to have you back, after all this piece of business, by way of tempting people to come to her shop. They'd come from Salford to have a peep at you, for six months at least."
"Don't talk so; I cannot come, I can never face Miss Simmonds again. And even if I could—" she stopped, and blushed.
"Ay! I know what you're thinking on. But that will not be this some time, as he's turned off from the foundry,—you'd better think twice afore refusing Miss Simmonds' offer."
"Turned off from the foundry! Jem?" cried Mary.
"To be sure! didn't you know it? Decent men were not going to work with a—no! I suppose I mustn't say it, seeing you went to such trouble to get up an alibi; not that I should think much the worse of a spirited young fellow for falling foul of a rival,—they always do at the theatre."
But Mary's thoughts were with Jem. How good he had been never to name his dismissal to her. How much he had had to endure for her sake!
"Tell me all about it," she gasped out.