said the old woman.

"Am I bound to tell you if I do know?"

"If you wish to do the best for him, you are. What's the good of
beating about the bush? Why don't you have him?"

Mary did not quite know whether it behoved her to be angry with the
old servant, and if so, how she was to show her anger. "You shouldn't
talk such nonsense, Mrs Baggett."

"That's all very well. It is all nonsense; but nonsense has to be
talked sometimes. Here's a gentleman as you owe everything to. If he
wanted your head from your shoulders, you shouldn't make any scruple.
What are you, that you shouldn't let a gentleman like him have his
own way? Asking your pardon, but I don't mean it any way out of
disrespect. Of course it would be all agin me. An old woman doesn't
want to have a young mistress over her head, and if she's my sperrit,
she wouldn't bear it. I won't, any way."

"Then why do you ask me to do this thing?"

"Because a gentleman like him should have his own way. And an old hag
like me shouldn't stand for anything. No more shouldn't a young woman
like you who has had so much done for her. Now, Miss Mary, you see
I've told you my mind freely."

"But he has never asked me."

"You just sit close up to him, and he'll ask you free enough. I
shouldn't speak as I have done if there had been a morsel of doubt
about it. Do you doubt it yourself, Miss?" To this Miss Lawrie did
not find it necessary to return any answer.

When Mrs Baggett had gone and Mary was left to herself, she could
not but think over what the woman had said to her. In the first
place, was she not bound to be angry with the woman, and to express
her anger? Was it not impertinent, nay, almost indecent, that the
woman should come to her and interrogate her on such a subject?
The inmost, most secret feelings of her heart had been ruthlessly
inquired into and probed by a menial servant, who had asked questions
of her, and made suggestions to her, as though her part in the affair
had been of no consequence. "What are you, that you shouldn't let
a gentleman like him have his own way?" Why was it not so much to
her as to Mr Whittlestaff? Was it not her all; the consummation
or destruction of every hope; the making or unmaking of her joy or
of her happiness? Could it be right that she should marry any man,
merely because the man wanted her? Were there to be no questions
raised as to her own life, her own contentment, her own ideas of what
was proper? It was true that t