She disappointed him in one thing; she was bad at answering questions. Morally she was not quite so great an egotist as himself, but intellectually a greater. Her volubility was all egotism. She could scarcely say ten words, except about herself. So, when Bassett questioned her about Sir Charles and Lady Bassett, she said “Yes,” or “No,” or “I don't know,” and was off at a tangent to her own sayings and doings. Bassett, however, by great patience and tact, extracted from her at last that Sir Charles and Lady Bassett were both sore at not having children, and that Lady Bassett bore the blame. “That is a good joke,” said he. “The smoke-dried rake! Polly, you might do me a good turn. You have got her ear; open her eyes for me. What might not happen?” His eyes shone fiendishly. The young woman shook her head. “Me meddle between man and wife! I'm too fond of my place.” “Ah, you don't love me as I love you. You think only of yourself.” “And what do you think of? Do you love me well enough to find me a better place, if you get me turned out of Huntercombe Hall?” “Yes, I will; a much better.” “That is a bargain.” Mary Wells was silly in some things, but she was very cunning, too; and she knew Richard Bassett's hobby. She told him to mind himself, as well as Sir Charles, or perhaps he would die a bachelor, and so his flesh and blood would never inherit Huntercombe. This remark entered his mind. The trial, though apparently a drawn battle, had been fatal to him--he was cut; he dared not pay his addresses to any lady in the county, and he often felt very lonely now. So everything combined to draw him toward Mary Wells--her swarthy beauty, which shone out at church like a black diamond among the other women; his own loneliness; and the pleasure these stolen meetings gave him. Custom itself is pleasant, and the company of this handsome chatterbox became a habit, and an agreeable one. The young woman herself employed a woman's arts; she was cold and loving by turns till at last he gave her what she was working for, a downright promise of marriage. She pretended not to believe him, and so led him further; he swore he would marry her. He made one stipulation, however. She really must learn to read and write first. When he had sworn this Mary became more uniformly affectionate; and as women who have been in service learn great self-government, and can generally please so long as it serves their turn, she made herself so agreeable to him that he began really to have a downright liking for her--a liking bounded, of course, by his incurable selfishness; but as for his hobby, that was on her side.