"But what on earth will the justice and the young masters say?"
"We shall see. I wash my hands of interfering. Exactly what she has ordered, cook, and no more, mind: she and the master must settle it between them."
Mary Anne Thornycroft had hoped she "should not die of it." Of that there was little chance; but that the girl had received a great blow, there was no disputing. Mr. Thornycroft had said a word to her that morning after breakfast in his authoritative manner, to remind her that she was not to run wild, now there was some one at home to be her friend, mother, companion. Smarting under the sense of wrongs that in her limited experience, her ignorance of the woes of the world, she believed had never fallen on anybody's head before, Mary Anne when left alone burst into a flood of tears; and Isaac surprised her in them. Half in vexation, half in pride, she dried them hastily. Isaac drew her before him, and stood holding her hands in his, looking down gravely into her face.
"What did you promise me, Mary Anne?"
No answer.
"That you would, for a time at least, make the best of things. That you would try the new rule before rebelling against it."
"But I can't. It is too hard, Isaac. Papa's beginning to interfere now."
"Interfere! Is that the right word to use?"
She looked down, pouting her pretty lips. It was a good sign, as Isaac knew.
"There was no harm in my walking to Mrs. Copp's after breakfast yesterday; or in my staying there; or in my going with you to Jutpoint."