She had thought in her
innocence that this was because she had lost her godmother, her
protectress,--and had been very grateful for the kindness of her friends.
But now another meaning came into everything. Mrs. Bowyer had accompanied
her visitor to the door, still talking, and when she returned her face
was very grave. But she smiled when she met Mary's look, and said
cheerfully,--
"How kind of you, my dear, to make all those pinafores for me! The little
ones will not know themselves. They never were so fine before."
"Oh, Mrs. Bowyer," cried the girl, "I have guessed something! and I want
you to tell me! Are you keeping me for charity, and is it I that am
left--without any provision, and that Mr. Furnival has written--"
She could not finish her sentence, for it was very bitter to her, as may
be supposed.
"I don't know what you mean, my dear," cried the vicar's wife.
"Charity,--well, I suppose that is the same as love,--at least it is so in
the 13th chapter of 1st Corinthians. You are staying with us, I hope, for
love, if that is what you mean."
Upon which she took the girl in her arms and kissed her, and cried, as
women must. "My dearest," she said, "as you have guessed the worst, it is
better to tell you. Lady Mary--I don't know why; oh, I don't wish to
blame her--has left no will; and, my dear, my dear, you who have been
brought up in luxury, you have not a penny.
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