"I do not intend to steal away," cried Mattie.
"And considerin' that I've come out of kindness, and to give you a piece of news, you might have said thankee for it—bad luck to you, Mattie Gray."
"Oh! bad luck will not come to me at your wish."
The old woman paused at the door, and shook her key at her.
"I never wished bad luck to any living soul, but what it came. Now think of that!"
She went out of the shop and along Great Suffolk Street at a smart pace—like a woman who had suddenly remembered something and started off in a hurry after it. Mattie was perplexed at the interview; doubtful if any truth had mixed itself with Mrs. Watts' statement, and at a loss to reconcile all that she had heard with fabrication. Even from Mrs. Watts' lips it sounded like truth; the woman seemed in earnest, her offer to take five pounds for her silence an impromptu thought, originated by Mattie's sudden fear.
"What can it mean?—what can it mean?" reiterated Mattie to herself; "was it unfair to doubt her?—she thought so, or she would not have wished me bad luck so evilly at the last?"
She sat down behind the counter to reflect upon the strangeness of the incident, and was still revolving in her mind the facts or falsities connected with it, when Ann Packet burst from the parlour door into the shop, with eyes distended.
"Have you been up-stairs, Mattie?"
"Upstairs, Ann!—no."