"If the remuneration were but a little better," exclaimed Mrs. Paradyne, in her semi-fretful, semi-resigned way. "Three hours a day, and luncheon and thirty-four shillings a month! What is it?"
"Dear mamma, it is better than nothing a month," was the cheering answer. "When I first knew that the Hills were going away, I feared I might be unemployed for the winter. Something better may arise later: and I am sure I shall like Mrs. Talbot. Miss Brabazon dropped a hint to me the other day that perhaps they might engage me for Rose."
She tied her bonnet, kissed her mother, and went forth with her bright face. It was not far to go; only a few doors. Mrs. Talbot came to her directly, and entered on her task, which did not seem an agreeable one—that of putting a few questions in regard to her intimacy with Mr. Henry. But, instead of meeting them—as Mrs. Talbot had anticipated she would—in a calm spirit of refutation, the young lady turned red, grew confused, and flung her hands up to her disturbed face with a faint cry of dismay. It had come upon her so suddenly.
"Believe me, I do not wish to pain you," said Mrs. Talbot, speaking gently in the midst of her surprise. "Neither would I think of inquiring into any particulars that you may prefer not to disclose. Only tell me that there is nothing in the rumour; that you and Mr. Henry have no—no—acquaintance in common; that will be quite sufficient."
"But I cannot tell it you," replied Miss Paradyne in her straightforward truth.
"What the college boys have got hold of, I'm sure I am unable to say," resumed Mrs. Talbot, thinking she could not have been understood. "Nothing very grave: the most tangible charge I can make out is, that you have been seen walking with Mr. Henry. There is, of course, no harm in that; the harm lies in its being done in secret. Can you refute it, Miss Paradyne?"
No, she could not: and she was growing sick with fear. Not fear for herself: the reproach that might ordinarily be supposed to arise from such a thing, she never so much as glanced at. Her whole thought was for her brother Arthur, lest the concealment of which he had been guilty in regard to his true name, was becoming known. Mrs. Talbot, feeling both grieved and surprised, pressed the question.
"I daresay I may have been seen with Mr. Henry: I did not know it," answered Miss Paradyne, forced into the avowal, and beginning to shiver. Had it only occurred to her to say "My mother is cognisant of all I do," Mrs. Talbot might have been satisfied: but it did not.
There was nothing for it but to part. Mrs. Talbot reluctantly said she could not carry out the engagement, and Mary Paradyne went away, to bear home her unhappy tale. As she stood at Mrs. Talbot's door, the bright sun shining full upon her, she became aware how long the interview had lasted, for the outdoor boys were quitting the college after morning school. George was nearly the first of them, and she drew him into the middle of the road.
"Whatever is the matter?" cried he, perceiving something strange in her countenance.