“Why, is Rosie going away?” he said, immeasurably relieved.

“My Rosie!  She’s the best girl breathing.  It’s that there Mary Ann!”

“Wh-a-t!” he stammered.  “Mary Ann leaving you?”

“Well, you don’t suppose,” replied Mrs. Leadbatter, angrily, “as I can keep a gel in my kitchen as is a-goin’ to ’ave ’er own nors-end-kerridge!”

“Her own horse and carriage!” repeated Lancelot, utterly dazed.  “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Well—­there’s the letter!” exclaimed Mrs. Leadbatter, indignantly.  “See for yourself if you don’t believe me.  I don’t know how much two and a ’arf million dollars is—­but it sounds unkimmonly like a nors-end-kerridge—­and never said a word about ’im the whole time, the sly little thing!”

The universe seemed oscillating so that he grasped at the letter like a drunken man.  It was from the vicar.  He wrote:—­

“I have much pleasure in informing you that our dear Mary Ann is the fortunate inheritress of two and a half million dollars by the death of her brother Tom, who, as I learn from the lawyers who have applied to me for news of the family, has just died in America, leaving his money to his surviving relatives.  He was rather a wild young man, but it seems he became the lucky possessor of some petroleum wells which made him wealthy in a few months.  I pray God Mary Ann may make a better use of the money than he would have done.  I want you to break the news to her, please, and to prepare her for my visit.  As I have to preach on Sunday, I cannot come to town before, but on Monday (D.V.) I shall run up and shall probably take her back with me, as I desire to help her through the difficulties that will attend her entry into the new life.  How pleased you will be to think of the care you took of the dear child during these last five years.  I hope she is well and happy; I think you omitted to write to me last Christmas on the subject.  Please give her my kindest regards and best wishes and say I shall be with her (D.V.) on Monday.”

The words swam uncertainly before Lancelot’s eyes, but he got through them all at last.  He felt chilled and numbed.  He averted his face as he handed the letter back to Mary Ann’s “missus.”

“What a fortunate girl!” he said in a low, stony voice.

“Fortunate ain’t the word for it!  The mean, sly little cat!  Fancy never telling me a word about ’er brother all these years—­me as ’as fed her, and clothed her, and lodged her, and kepper out of all mischief, as if she’d bin my own daughter; never let her go out Bankhollidayin’ in loose company—­as you can bear witness yourself, sir—­and eddicated ’er out of ’er country talk and rough ways, and made ’er the smart young woman she is, fit to wait on the most troublesome of gentlemen.  And now she’ll go away and say I used ’er ’arsh, and overworked ’er, and Lord knows what, don’t tell me!  Oh, my poor chest!”

“I think you may make your mind quite easy,” said Lancelot, grimly.  “I’m sure Mary Ann is perfectly satisfied with your treatment.”