“I am not likely to forget my dependence, Imogene,” said Mary. “You take care to remind me of it often enough. You might spare me at least before Mr. Temple.”
“I suppose you wish him to think you a rich young lady,” said Imogene coarsely, “but it is of no use. He understands that you are a beggar, and are being educated for a governess.”
“I’d like to wring the girl’s neck,” thought Tom, who felt for Mary, under the coarse abuse which her cousin thought fit to heap upon her. He thought it quite time to speak.
“I have just as much respect for Miss Somers as if she were an heiress,” he said, with a look of sympathy which Mary saw and appreciated. “I was fortunate enough to meet your cousin a short time since, Miss Davenport, when she was exposed to a great danger.”
“From which Mr. Temple’s courage saved me,” said Mary gratefully.
“Really, one would think you had been attacked by a wild beast.”
“That is really the case,” said Tom.
“A wild beast—in Plympton!” exclaimed Imogene in amazement.
“Yes, the worst kind of a wild beast—a mad-dog. Fortunately, I had a stick with me and killed him.”
“After your brother James had run away and left me to my fate,” said Mary, a little bitterly.