lved that Mary Lawrie should come to him, and be made, with all
possible honours of ownership, with all its privileges and all its
responsibilities, the mistress of his house. And he made up his mind
also that such had ever been his determination. He was fifty and Mary
Lawrie was twenty-five. "I can do just what I please with her," he
said to himself, "as though she were my own girl." By this he meant
to imply that he would not be expected to fall in love with her, and
that it was quite out of the question that she should fall in love
with him. "Go and tell Mrs Baggett that I'll be much obliged to her
if she'll put on her bonnet and come out to me here." This he said to
a gardener's boy, and the order was not at all an unusual one. When
he wanted to learn what Mrs Baggett intended to give him for dinner,
he would send for the old housekeeper and take a walk with her for
twenty minutes. Habit had made Mrs Baggett quite accustomed to the
proceeding, which upon the whole she enjoyed. She now appeared with
a bonnet, and a wadded cloak which her master had given her. "It's
about that letter, sir," said Mrs Baggett.

"How do you know?"

"Didn't I see the handwriting, and the black edges? Mrs Lawrie ain't
no more."

"Mrs Lawrie has gone to her long account."

"I'm afeared, sir, she won't find it easy to settle the bill,"
said Mrs Baggett, who had a sharp, cynical way of expressing her
disapprobation.

"Mrs Baggett, judge not, lest you be judged." Mrs Baggett turned up
her nose and snuffed the air. "The woman has gone, and nothing shall
be said against her here. The girl remains. Now, I'll tell you what I
mean to do."

"She isn't to come here, Mr Whittlestaff?"

"Here she is to come, and here she is to remain, and here she is to
have her part of everything as though she were my own daughter. And,
as not the smallest portion of the good things that is to come to
her, she is to have her share in your heart, Mrs Baggett."

"I don't know nothing about my heart, Mr Whittlestaff. Them as finds
their way to my heart has to work their way there. Who's Miss Lawrie,
that I'm to be knocked about for a new comer?"

"She is just Mary Lawrie."

"I'm that old that I don't feel like having a young missus put over
me. And it ain't for your good, Mr Whittlestaff. You ain't a young
man--nor you ain't an old un; and she ain't no relations to you.
That's the worst part of it. As sure as my name is Dorothy Baggett,
you'll be falling in