“Oh, that was a long time ago. Time brings changes. You can't take the eyes out of my head.” “Suppose it should be only a false alarm?” “Is that likely? However, I will learn. Whether it is or not, that child shall never rob mine of Bassett and Huntercombe. Anything is fair against such a woman.” CHAPTER XXVI. THAT very night, after Wheeler had gone home, Richard Bassett wrote a cajoling letter to Mary Wells, asking her to meet him at the old place. When the girl got this letter she felt a little faint for a moment; but she knew the man, his treachery, and his hard egotism and selfishness so well, that she tossed the letter aside, and resolved to take no notice. Her trust was all in her mistress, for whom, indeed, she had more real affection than for any living creature; as for Richard Bassett she absolutely detested him. As the day wore on she took another view of matters: her deceiver was the enemy of her mistress; she might do her a service by going to this rendezvous, might learn something from him, and use it against him. So she went to the rendezvous with a heart full of bitter hate. Bassett, with all his assurance, could not begin his interrogatory all in a moment. He made a sort of apology, said he felt he had been unkind, and he had never been happy since he had deserted her. She cut that short. “I have found a better than you,” said she. “I am going to London very soon--to be married.” “I am glad to hear it.” “No doubt you are.” “I mean for your sake.” “For my sake? You think as little of me as I do of you. Come, now, what do you want of me--without a lie, if you _can?”_ “I wanted to see you, and talk to you, and hear your prospects.” “Well, I have told you.” And she pretended to be going. “Don't be in such a hurry. Tell us the news. Is it true that Lady Bassett is expected--” “Oh, that is no news.” “It is to me.” “'Tain't no news in our house. Why, we have known it for months.” This took away the man's breath for a minute. At last he said, with a great deal of intention: “Will it be fair or dark?” “As God pleases.” “I'll bet you five pounds to one that it is dark.” Mary shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, as if these speculations were too childish for her. “It's my lady you want to talk about, is it? I thought it was to make me a wedding present.” He actually put his hand in his pocket and gave her two sovereigns. She took them with a grim smile. He presumed on this to question her minutely. She submitted to the interrogatory. Only, as the questions were not always delicate, and the answer was invariably an untruth, it may be as well to pass over the rest of the dialogue. Suffice it to say that, whenever the girl saw the drift of a question she lied admirably; and when she did not, still she lied upon principle: it must be a good thing to deceive the enemy.