To Mr Richard Rivers, from Christopher Lilly, Esq.—Sir. I suppose you have taken my niece, Maud Lilly. I wish you joy of her! Her mother was a strumpet, and she has all her mother''s instincts, if not her face. The check to the progress of my work will be severe; but I take comfort in my loss, from this: that I fancy you, sir, a man who knows the proper treating of a whore.—C.L.
I read it, two or three times; then read it again; then let it fall. Mrs Sucksby instantly takes it up, to read herself. As she labours over the words, she grows flushed. When she has finished, she gives a cry:
''That blackguard! Oh!''
Her cry wakes Dainty. ''Who, Mrs Sucksby? Who?'' she says.
''A wicked man, that''s all. A wicked man, who is ill, as he ought to be. No-one you know. Go back to sleep.'' She reaches for me. ''Oh, my dear—''
''Leave me alone,'' I say.
The letter has upset me, more than I should have believed. I
don''t know if it is the words that have wounded me most; or the final proof they seem to give, to Mrs Sucksby''s story. But I cannot bear to be watched by her, and by Richard, with my feelings in such a stir. I walk as far from them as I may—some two or three steps-— to the brown kitchen wall; then I walk from there to another wall and from there to a door; and I seize and vainly turn the handle.