“I don't know about that, my Lady, I'm sure,” responded the waiting-maid demurely; “I leave all these things to my betters. But, I suppose, if racing was a crime, Mr Chifney would not be let to have the Abbey Barn--Sir Richard being so very particular--and Master Walter would not for ever be up at the stables. Why, he and Mr Derrick are both together, hand and glove, in this very business--something about a French racer, it is; although, when you and I were at Dijon, my Lady, we never heard of there being such a thing in all France, did we?--so my poor Ralph cannot be so very wicked after all. And please, ma'am, it is no use saying anything more about it, for I have written him that letter already which he was to find in London, and put it in the post.” “And did you answer 'Yes,' or 'No,' Mary?” “I answered 'Yes,' my Lady--that I would marry him--and begging your pardon, madam, but I mean to stand to it.” CHAPTER II. CONFESSION. |THERE is one serious disadvantage--which mistresses should do well to remember--at which waiting-maids are always placed in disputations with their domestic superiors; they cannot (except they are prepared for instant dismissal) either quit the room, and hang the door after them, or leave it open, and run down stairs “saying things” at the top of their voices. Both these modes of procedure, so natural to the female when “put out,” are denied to them, for the same reason that when on board ship they can't take champagne for sea-sickness as their employers do; they cannot afford the indulgence. Now, although Mary Forest was not debarred by mère pecuniary considerations from flinging herself out of her mistress's room when she cried, “And I mean to stand to it,” there were other reasons which prevented her from suiting to her words that very appropriate and natural action. In all her blinding passion (and she was really very angry), she never quite lost sight of the respect she owed her mistress. Her devotion to her was such, that even while she listened to her most unpalatable arguments against the man she had accepted for her husband, her heart smote her with a sense of ingratitude towards the long-tried friend, who, after all, she knew, was anxious for her happiness rather than for her own mère comfort; and when she seemed most obstinate, she had often been nearest to throwing herself upon her mistress's neck, and exclaiming: “You are quite right, my Lady; and I believe I have been an old fool all along.” It was more with the desire of putting a stop to this most unpleasant dispute, than because her determination was absolutely adamantine and inflexible, that she once more reiterated: “Yes, my Lady, I mean to stand to it,” and fixed her eyes doggedly upon the floor, as though she would not even encounter another questioning glance.