Then perhaps you'll learn not to class me with common, low girls
like yourself."

It might be thought that Mavis's aspersions might have provoked a
storm: it produced an altogether contrary effect.

"Don't be down on me. I don't know what's to become of me,"
whimpered Miss Potter.

The next moment, the three girls, other than Mavis, were clinging
together, the while they wept tears of contrition and sympathy.

Mavis, although her pride had been cruelly wounded by Miss Potter's
careless but base accusation, was touched at the girl's distress;
the abasement of the once proud young beauty, the nature of its
cause, together with the realisation of the poor girl's desperate
case, moved her deeply: she stood irresolute in the middle of the
room. The three weeping girls were wondering when Mavis was going to
recommence her attack; they little knew that her keen imagination
was already dwelling with infinite compassion on the dismal
conditions in which the promised new life would come into the world.
Her heart went out to the extremity of mother and unborn little one;
had not her pride forbade her, she would have comforted Miss Potter
with brave words. Presently, when Miss Potter whimpered something
about "some people being so straitlaced," Mavis found words to say:

"I'm not a bit straitlaced. I'm really very sorry for you, and I
can't see you're much to blame, as the life we lead here is enough
to drive girls to anything. If I'm any different, it's because I'm
not built that way."