“All right!” said Tom, defiantly. “I don’t want to stay if that’s what you think of me.”
She turned and left Mrs. Merton. Five minutes later she was in the street, going she knew not whither. She was so angry at the unfounded suspicions which had been cast upon her, that she felt glad to go. But after a while she began to think of the sudden change in her fortunes. For three months she had possessed a comfortable home, been well fed and lodged, and had been rapidly making up the deficiencies in her education. She had really tried to soften the roughness and abruptness of her manners, and become a good girl, hoping to win the approbation of her good friend, the captain, when he should return from his voyage. Now it was all over. She had lost her home, and must again wander about with no home but the inhospitable street.
“It isn’t my fault,” thought Tom, with a sigh. “I couldn’t give back the money when I didn’t take it.”
CHAPTER XVII
THE GOLD PENCIL.
Mrs. Merton was taken by surprise when she found that Tom had actually gone. Her conviction remained unshaken that she had stolen Mr. Holland’s money, and she considered that she had been forbearing in not causing her arrest.
“Your uncle cannot blame me,” she said to Mary, “for sending her away. He cannot expect me to keep a thief in my house.”
“To be sure not,” said Mary, promptly. “I am glad she has gone. You couldn’t expect much from a girl that was brought up in the streets.”
“That is true. I don’t see, for my part, what your uncle saw in her.”
“Nor I. She’s a rude, hateful thing.”
“She denied taking the money.”