“I know you did; but I didnt think you were in earnest.”
“No, you never can conceive my being in earnest when I differ from you, until the event proves me to be right.”
“I am afraid it will kill Constance.”
“Dont, Marian!” cried Elinor, giving her chair a violent swing.
“I am quite serious. You know how delicate she is.”
“Well, if she dies of any sentiment, it will be wounded vanity. Serve her right for allowing a man to be forced into marrying her. I believe she knows in her soul that he does not care about her. Why else should she be jealous of me, of you, and of everybody?”
“It seems to me that instead of sympathizing with the unfortunate girl, both you and Marmaduke exult in her disappointment.”
“I pity her, poor little wretch. But I dont sympathize with her. I dont pity Marmaduke one bit: if the whole family cuts him he will deserve it richly, but I do sympathize with him. Can you wonder at his preference? When we went to see that woman last June I envied her. There she was, clever, independent, successful, holding her own in the world, earning her living, fascinating a crowd of people, whilst we poor respectable nonentities sat pretending to despise her—as if we were not waiting until some man in want of a female slave should offer us our board and lodging and the privilege of his lordly name with ‘Missis’ before it for our lifelong services. You may make up as many little bread-and-butter romances as you please, Marian; but I defy you to give me any sensible reason why Marmaduke should chain himself for ever to a little inane thing like Constance, when he can enjoy the society of a capable woman like that without binding himself at all.”
“Nonsense, Nelly! Really, you oughtnt to say such things.”
“No. I ought to keep both eyes tight shut so that I may be contented in that station to which it has pleased God to call me.”