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Updated: June 8, 2025
"What on earth it is they sees in 'em, is what I never can understand. She ain't pretty, not to say, and she looks as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. But she's got it inside her, and some of them days it'll come out." Then Mrs Baggett determined that she would have a few words on the subject with Mary Lawrie.
He had not even suggested the idea to Mrs Baggett, and was sure that Mrs Baggett would not approve. As to sending Mary Lawrie out into the world as a governess; that plan he was quite sure would not answer. Two years ago had died his best beloved friend, Captain Patrick Lawrie. With him we have not anything to do, except to say that of all men he was the most impecunious.
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."
But those who heard it knew that the words were spoken in supreme good humour, and judged from that, that Mrs Baggett's heart had been won. But Mrs Baggett still had her fears; and was not yet resolved but that it might be her duty to turn against Mary Lawrie with all the violence in her power.
So she went down-stairs, and found that invaluable old domestic interfering materially with the comfort of the two younger maidens. She was determined to let them "know what was what," as she expressed it. "You oughtn't to be angry with me, because I've done nothing," said Jane the housemaid, sobbing. "That's just about it," said Mrs Baggett. "And why haven't you done nothing?
He could not conceive it to be possible that he should be required by duty to make such a sacrifice; but he knew of himself that if her happiness, her true and permanent happiness, would require it, then the sacrifice should be made. The next day was Saturday, and Mr Whittlestaff came out of his room early, intending to speak to Mrs Baggett.
He had known her as one of her father's household, and of her step-mother's; and had seen probably some little instance of self-assertion, such as had not yet made itself apparent to Mrs Baggett. A man who had met her once, and for a few minutes only, would certainly not declare her to be beautiful. She, too, like Mr Whittlestaff, was always contented to pass unobserved.
Croker's Hall was not above a mile from the town, just where the town was beginning to become country, and where the houses all had gardens belonging to them, and the larger houses a field or two. "Yes, sir, master is at home. If you'll please to ring the bell, one of the girls will come out." This was said by Mrs Baggett, advancing almost over the body of her prostrate husband.
I suppose we is only got to go back." So they retreated down the stairs, leaving Mrs Baggett weeping in the passage. "You should let a poor old woman have her box," she said, whining to her master, whom she followed to the library. "No; I won't! You shan't have your box. You're an old fool!" "I know I'm an old fool; but I ought to have my box." "You won't have it.
During the latter period Mrs Baggett had lived at Croker's Hall with Mr Whittlestaff, and within that period something had leaked out as to the Sergeant.
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