MARY AKD LETTY.
When her landlady announced a visitor, Letty, not having yet one
friend in London, could not think who it should be. When Mary
entered, she sprang to her feet and stood staring: what with
being so much in the house, and seeing so few people, the poor
girl had, I think, grown a little stupid. But, when the fact of
Mary's presence cleared itself to her, she rushed forward with a
cry, fell into her arms, and burst out weeping. Mary held her
fast until she had a little come to herself, then, pushing her
gently away to the length of her arms, looked at her.
She was not a sight to make one happy. She was no longer the
plump, fresh girl that used to go singing about; nor was she
merely thin and pale, she looked unhealthy. Things could not be
going well with her. Had her dress been only disordered, that
might have been accidental, but it looked neglected--was not
merely dingy, but plainly shabby, and, to Mary's country eyes,
appeared on the wrong side of clean. Presently, as those eyes got
accustomed to the miserable light, they spied in the skirt of her
gown a perfunctory darn, revealing but too evidently that to
Letty there no longer seemed occasion for being particular. The
sadness of it all sunk to Mary's heart: Letty had not found
marriage a grand affair!
But Mary had not come into the world to be sad or to help another
to be sad.
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