 suspected a lover
to be lurking; but, instead, she saw only the figure of the stern gloomy father
she had always been in the habit of avoiding; and she dropped down again,
content to carry on the conversation where Mary chose, and as Mary chose, in
whispers.
    »So the old governor is back again, eh? And what does he say to all your
fine doings at Liverpool, and before? - you and I know where. You can't hide it
now, Mary, for it's all in print.«
    Mary gave a low moan, - and then implored Sally to change the subject; for,
unpleasant as it always was, it was doubly unpleasant in the manner in which she
was treating it. If they had been alone Mary would have borne it patiently, - or
so she thought, - but now she felt almost certain her father was listening:
there was a subdued breathing, a slight bracing-up of the listless attitude. But
there was no arresting Sally's curiosity to hear all she could respecting the
adventures Mary had experienced. She, in common with the rest of Miss Simmonds'
young ladies, was almost jealous of the fame that Mary had obtained; to herself,
such miserable notoriety.
    »Nay! there's no use shunning talking it over. Why! it was in the Guardian,
- and the Courier, - and some one told Jane Hodgson it was even copied into a
London paper. You've set up heroine on your own account, Mary Barton. How did
you like standing witness? Ar'n't them lawyers impudent things? staring at one
so. I'll be bound you wished you'd taken my offer, and borrowed my black watered
scarf! Now didn't you, Mary? Speak truth!«
    »To tell truth, I never thought about it, then, Sally. How could I?« asked
she reproachfully.
    »Oh - I forgot. You were all for that stupid James Wilson. Well! if I've
ever the luck to go witness on a trial, see if I don't pick up a better beau
than the prisoner. I'll aim at a lawyer's clerk, but I'll not take less than a
turnkey.«
    Cast down as Mary was, she could hardly keep from smiling at the idea, so
wildly incongruous with the scene she had really undergone, of looking out for
admirers during a trial for murder.
    »I'd no thought to be looking out for beaux,
