“I do not wish to intrude—­no third person has a right to intrude upon these affairs; but I wish I could be of any service.  You must perceive, Miss Bennett, that your proceedings are not quite right—­not quite safe.  Are you sure you know enough about this gentleman?  How long have you been acquainted with him?  He probably belongs to the University.”

Miss Bennnett laughed.  “Not he—­at least not now.  He got into a scrape and left it, and has only been back here a week; but I have found out where his estate is, and all about him.  He has the prettiest property, and is perfectly independent, and a baronet likewise.  Only think”—­and the girl, recovering her spirits, tossed her handsome head, and spread out her showy, tawdry gown—­“only think of being called ’Lady!’—­Lady Uniacke.”

Had Miss Bennett been less occupied in admiring herself in the mirrors she must have seen the start Mrs. Grey gave—­for the moment only, however—­and then she spoke.

“Sir Edwin Uniacke’s character here is well known.  He is a bad man.  For you to keep up any acquaintance with him is positive madness.”

“Not in the least; I know perfectly what I am about, and can take care of myself, thank you.  He has sown his wild oats, and got a title and estate, which makes a very great difference.  Besides, I hope I’m as sharp as he.  I shall not let myself down, no fear.  I’ll make him make me Lady Uniacke.”

Christian’s pity changed into something very like disgust.  Many a poor, seduced girl would have appeared to her less guilty, less degraded than this girl, who, knowing all a man’s antecedents, which she evidently did—­bad as he was, set herself deliberately to marry him—­a well-planned, mercenary marriage, by which she might raise herself out of her low station into a higher, and escape from the drudgery of labor into ease and splendor.

And yet is not the same thing done every day in society by charming young ladies, aided and abetted by most prudent, respectable, and decorous fathers and mothers?  Let these, who think themselves so sinless, cast the first stone at Susan Bennett.

But to Christian, who had never been in society, and did not know the ways of it, the sensation conveyed was one of absolute repulsion.  She rose.

“I fear, Miss Bennett, that if we continued this conversation forever we should never agree.  It only proves to me more and more the impossibility of your remaining my daughter’s governess.  Allow me to pay you, and then let us part at once.”

But the look of actual dismay which came over the girl’s face once more made her pause.

“You send me away with no recommendation—­and I shall never get another situation—­and I have hardly a thing to put on—­and I’m in debt awfully.  You are cruel to me, Mrs. Grey—­you that have been a governess yourself.”  And she burst into a passion of hysterical crying.

“What can I do?” said Christian sadly.  “I can not keep you——­I dare not.  And it is equally true that I dare not recommend you.  If I could find any thing else—­not with children—­something you really could do, and which would take you away from this town—­”