Make a friend of me.
There--think it over, and talk to me again to-morrow."
Mary Wells took the true servant's view of Lady Bassett's kindness. She
looked at it as a trap; not, indeed, set with malice prepense, but
still a trap. She saw that Lady Bassett meant kindly at present; but,
for all that, she was sure that if she told the truth, her mistress
would turn against her, and say, "Oh! I had no idea your trouble arose
out of your own imprudence. I can do nothing for a vicious girl."
She resolved therefore to say nothing, or else to tell some lie or
other quite wide of the mark.
Deplorable as this young woman's situation was, the duplicity and
coarseness of mind which had brought her into it would have somewhat
blunted the mental agony such a situation must inflict; but it was
aggravated by a special terror; she knew that if she was found out she
would lose the only sure friend she had in the world.
The fact is, Mary Wells had seen a great deal of life during the two
years she was out of the reader's sight. Rhoda had been very good to
her; had set her up in a lodging-house, at her earnest request. She
misconducted it, and failed: threw it up in disgust, and begged Rhoda
to put her in the public line. Rhoda complied. Mary made a mess of the
public-house.
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