I ought to make at least forty
shillings a week."
Mr. Bullsom sighed.
"Is this owing to any disagreement between you and the girls?" he asked,
sharply.
"Certainly not," she answered.
"You ain't unhappy here? Is there anything we could do? I don't want
to lose you."
Mary was touched. She had expected ridicule or opposition. This was
more difficult.
"Of course I am not unhappy," she answered. "You and aunt have been
both of you most generous and kind to me. But I do feel that a busy
life--and I'm not a bit domestic, you know would be good for me. I
believe, uncle, if you were in my place you would feel just like me. If
you were able to, I expect you'd want to earn your own living."
"You shall go!" he said, decidedly. "I'll help you all I can. You
shall have a bit down to buy furniture, if you want it, or an allowance
till you feel your way. But, Mary, I'm downright sorry. No, I'm not
blaming you. You've a right to go. I--I don't believe I'd live here if
I were you.
"You are very good, uncle," Mary said, gratefully. "And you must
remember it isn't as though I were leaving you alone.
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