“Do not use that word in speaking of her, if you please, Anna.”
“Well, lady—if you like that better——”
“No—say young lady—or Miss Monson—or Mary, which has the most agreeable sound of all.”
“Yet, I think I have been told that none of you believe she has been indicted by her real name.”
“Very true; but it makes no difference. Call her by that she has assumed; but do not call her by an alias as wretched as that of ‘poor woman.’”
“I meant no slight, I do assure you, John; for I feel almost as much interest in Miss Monson as you do yourself. It is not surprising, however, that one in her situation should feel an interest in the law.”
“It is not this sort of interest that I mean. It has seemed to me, once or twice, that she dealt with the difficulties of her own case as if she took a pleasure in meeting them—had a species of professional pleasure in conquering them. Timms will not let me into his secrets, and I am glad of it, for I fancy all of them would not bear the light; but he tells me, honestly, that some of Miss Monson’s suggestions have been quite admirable!”
“Perhaps she has been”—Anna checked herself with the consciousness that what she was about to utter might appear to be, and what was of still greater importance in her own eyes, might really be, ungenerous.
“Perhaps what? Finish the sentence, I beg of you.”
Anna shook her head.