“If you and Mr. Despencer want to sit here, we will go away,” she offered, sweetly.
The marchioness recoiled, and gazed at her like King Lear listening to Goneril’s complaints about his knights.
“When you are married I shall wash my hands of you, and if your unfortunate husband likes to let you carry on an open flirtation with your cousin, he may,” she said, viciously. “But while you are on my hands I am determined to put a stop to these clandestine doings. You hear me, Gerald?”
Gerald felt that he must stand by his cousin.
“Yes, aunt,” he said, with unlooked-for courage; “but I don’t see how our flirtation can be open and yet clandestine at the same time. It must be one or the other, you know.”
As the action was becoming general, the marchioness with a look brought up her light cavalry in the person of Despencer.
“I don’t know that,” he interposed. “There is no better concealment sometimes than a parade of openness.”
“Really, mamma, this won’t do!” Victoria protested. “I have schooled myself to bear Mr. Despencer’s compliments, but I really don’t think I can stand him as a moralist. I must draw the line somewhere.”
The marchioness threw her broad shield over her luckless ally.
“Mr. Despencer was not speaking to you, and I will not allow you to talk like that when he is only acting in your true interests.”