“Don’t you?” retorted Mrs. Hesketh. “Her mother has forfeited her income, her country, her friends, and devoted her life to her—is that to count for nothing?”
“I’m afraid that young people are shockingly selfish and ungrateful—especially when they are the objects of schemes for their good,” replied Mrs. Plassy, who was thoroughly enjoying herself, and determined that this detestable enemy should be remorselessly tortured. “She looks to me like a girl who had expensive tastes, and would appreciate luxury!”
“You don’t know Hugo Blagdon,” declared Mrs. Hesketh, with a note of passion in her voice, “nor the bringing up that he would have given his daughter!”
“Yes, by all accounts he is a viveur! and he looks dissipated. I’ve seen him at Monte Carlo. Yet, after all, the girl is legally his; he is her father.” A sharpness came into her speech, as she added, “Who would believe that that quiet young woman, had it in her to run off, first with an officer, and then with her own child? Still waters run deep!”
So this was how people talked of her friend!
Mrs. Hesketh’s temper was simmering to boiling-point; she began to realise that her adversary had set her heavy heel upon her neck, and intended to keep it there.
“I must say that it has been a great thing for Mrs. Blagdon—I mean Glyn—to have had your support,” continued Mrs. Plassy condescendingly.
“She is my friend—the best, most unselfish, and pure-minded woman, I have ever known.”
“Yes, yes—how splendid of you to say so! I daresay Mrs. Glyn was not quite as much to blame as people made out.” (But in Mrs. Plassy’s tone there lurked a reservation.) “And you, dear lady, are so unusually broad-minded—I have always maintained this.”
Mrs. Hesketh swallowed her fury, and steadied her voice, resolved to come to an understanding with this odious woman at all costs.