“The workhouse!” and I spoke the word as quietly as Aunt Briscoe herself had spoken it.
Jack turned on his heel with an explosive “Pshaw!”
“I am quoting Aunt Briscoe,” I said. “Jack, you don t often speak to me in such a tone.”
Jack was down on a chair by my side in a moment, kissing and begging pardon. Yet hardly had the apology passed his lips, before he was breaking out again into an indignant, “Workhouse for Maimie, indeed! The idea!”
“People with nothing to live upon cannot pick and choose.”
“Much Aunt Briscoe would like it for herself,” Jack said scornfully. “Well, as long as I have two hands to work with, Maimie shall never come to that. Mother, I wish you liked her better.”
I looked up at him, and said, “I like Maimie as much as can be expected in so short a time, Jack. Perhaps I am not quite so much infatuated as—some people.”
“Fascinated, not infatuated,” said Jack quickly. He rose and moved away, but came back from the door to say, “You’ll learn in time. You will love her in time, mother.” Then he was gone, and I began to realise, as mothers must, that my boy was growing out of boyhood.
It was so evidently a pleasure to Maimie to find herself of use in the house, that Jack ceased to resist, though he was always rushing forward to seize something from her hands, or to save her exertion. I wished he would take as much pains for Cherry; but though really a very kind brother, he did not at all object to seeing her hard at work.
Cress’ admiration for Maimie took a different form. Here, as in everything, he was disposed to put self first. He liked Maimie, therefore he liked her to wait upon him. He was accustomed to have much done for him, and he saw no reason for making Maimie an exception in the doing.