“Ah,” said Lord Frogmore, with a look of satisfaction, “that explains the familiarity of that big fellow—that Australian: not so bad a fellow as his sister seems to think.”
“Oh,” cried Mary, with a shudder, “he is very rough and very coarse. He has always been the trouble of the family. I am afraid of Ralph, too; but I knew him very well as I knew them all when we were children. Letitia used to come a great deal to the vicarage——”
“I will be bound she came for help for herself, not for you?”
“Oh, don’t say so, please. I am sure she was fond of mamma. She had no mother of her own. And she is very kind now. Lord Frogmore, I need not conceal,” said Mary, with a sudden flush, “that we are poor. It is quite a poor living, and my father has had to send all the boys out in the world. Unfortunately, we girls have not any education or we might have helped.”
“So much the better, Miss Hill.”
“Oh, don’t say so!” said Mary, “if you knew what it was to feel so helpless, not to be able to do anything: and just to have to live on and on dependent on your father, good for nothing, with nothing to look forward to. I am saying a great deal more to you than I ever said to anyone, Lord Frogmore. Letitia has been very kind. She asked me to come for a long visit so that I might be no expense at home.”
“And reminds you of it every day,” said the old gentleman.
“Oh,” said Mary, off her guard, “how should you know?—not every day—oh, no, no! Sometimes I need to be reminded, for a thing that becomes familiar one is apt to forget. They are very kind at home, and say they miss me more than the good it does them. But I know it is an ease to my father’s mind. He thinks it is one at least provided for.”
“Do you think you are provided for, Miss Hill?”
Mary hung her head. “I am for the moment. I am sure Letitia is very kind; but if there was any change, or when she really has to get a governess——”