"Are you married ?" she asked.
"Married!--Oh, no, madam!" replied Alice, innocently, yet without blushing, for she never knew that she had done wrong in loving Maltravers.
The lady drew gently back, but not in horror--no, in still deeper compassion; for that lady had virtue, and she knew that the faults of her sex are sufficiently punished to permit Virtue to pity them without a sin.
"I am sorry for it," she said, however, with greater gravity.

"Are you travelling to seek the father ?" "Ah, madam! I shall never see him again!" And Alice wept.
"What!--he has abandoned you--so young, so beautiful!" added the lady to herself.
"Abandoned me!--no, madam; but it is a long tale.

Good evening--I thank you kindly for your pity." The lady's eyes ran over.
"Stay," said she; "tell me frankly where you are going, and what is your object." "Alas! madam, I am going anywhere, for I have no home; but I wish to live, and work for my living, in order that my child may not want for anything.

I wish I could maintain myself--he used to say I could." "He!--your language and manner are not those of a peasant.

What can you do?
What do you know ?" "Music, and work, and--and--" "Music!--this is strange! What were your parents ?" Alice shuddered, and hid her face with her hands.
The lady's interest was now fairly warmed in her behalf.
"She has sinned," said she to herself; "but at that age, how can one be harsh?
She must not be thrown upon the world to make sin a habit.
Follow me," she said, after a little pause; "and think you have found a friend." The lady then turned from the high-road down a green lane which led to a park lodge.