Her ladyship laughed good-humouredly.
“You know, my dear girl, that whatever you choose to say will always be taken in good part as far as I am individually concerned—so leave off pouting. Sit down and lend me your attentive ear, or rather ears.”
“Well, what more have you to say?” returned Aveline, dropping into the nearest chair.
“The earl your grandfather, the head of the house and master of Broxbridge,” said Lady Marvlynn, emphasising her words with more than her usual care, “has thought fit in his wisdom to take upon himself the responsibility of getting you released from the thraldom which, to say the truth, has been to him for a long time almost insupportable.”
“To him?”
“Yes, my dear, to him, and—but this is only hypothetical—he presumes that it is insupportable to his darling pet also, for what constitutes his happiness or misery applies with equal force to his grandchild.”
“And have you told him?” exclaimed Aveline, as her brow darkened.
“I have told him nothing,” said her ladyship, still more emphatically. “It is not likely I should do so, and you will pardon the observation, but it is by no means complimentary to me to offer such a suggestion.”
“Oh, pardon—pardon me! I was wrong, I know it!” cried Aveline, throwing herself forward and clasping her companion round the neck with every expression of fondness.
“Say no more, darling, upon that head. You will find it indeed difficult to offend me. This is but a passing cloud; but my charge must learn to control her feelings—she really must. In the fashionable world these sudden emotions are quite out of place—they are, indeed. Well-bred people never suffer themselves to give way to violent demonstrations. Besides, dear, anger or rage is a sore destroyer of beauty.”