"Marry!" Mary looked up at her mother sharply. Mrs. Bethel looked a little frightened.
"Well, you will, you know, dear, probably—and perhaps—well, if he had money——"
"Mother!" She sprang up from her chair and faced her with flaming cheeks. "Do you mean to say that they are talking about it?"
"They? Who? It was only Mrs. Morrison the other day, at tea-time, said—that she thought——"
"Mrs. Morrison? That hateful woman discussing me? Mother, how could you let her? What did she say?"
"Why, only—I wish you wouldn't look so cross, dear. It was nothing really—only that Mr. Trojan obviously cared a good deal—and it would be so nice if——"
"How dare she?" Mary cried again. "And you think it too, mother—that I would go on my knees to him to take us out of our trouble—that I would sweep his floors if he would help the family! Oh! It's hateful! Hateful!"
She flung herself into a chair by the window and burst into tears. Mrs. Bethel stared at her in amazement. "Well, upon my word, my dear, one never knows how to take you! Why, it wasn't as if she'd said anything, only that it would be rather nice." She paused in utter bewilderment and seemed herself a little inclined to cry.
At this moment the door opened—Mary sprang up. "Who is it?" she asked.
"Mr. Henry Trojan, miss, would like to come up if it wouldn't——"