So now, indeed, Letty's foot was in the snare: she had a secret with Tom. Every time she saw him, liberty had withdrawn a pace. There was no room for confession now. If a secret held be a burden, a secret shared is a fetter. But Tom's heart rejoiced within him.
"Let me see!—How old are you, Letty?" he asked gayly.
"Eighteen past," she answered.
"Then you are fit to judge for yourself. You ain't a child, and they are not your father and mother. What right have they to know everything you do? I wouldn't let any such nonsense trouble me."
"But they give me everything, you know—food, and clothes, and all."
"Ah, just so!" returned Tom. "And what do you do for them?"
"Nothing."
"Why! what are you about all day?"
Letty gave him a brief sketch of her day.
"And you call that nothing?" exclaimed Tom. "Ain't that enough to pay for your food and your clothes? Does it want your private affairs to make up the difference? Or have you to pay for your food and clothes with your very thoughts?—What pocket-money do they give you?"