She would have given anything to escape the ordeal of reading to the young ladies. But it must be gone through; they made no allowances for headaches. She found them as little disposed to receive as she was to give a lesson.
"Sit down, Miss Holte," said Veronica; "we will not attend to our French just now; it's such nonsense of mamma to insist upon it! Would you mind threading these beads? I want to make a purse."
She placed a quantity of small gold and silver beads in the young girl's hands, and then eagerly resumed her conversation with her sister.
"I am the elder," she argued; "the first chance and the best chance ought to be mine. I have set my heart on winning Lord Chandon, and I shall think it very unkind of you to interfere."
"You do not know whether he will be willing to be won," said Mildred, sneeringly.
"I can but try; you could do no more. I should like to be Lady Chandon, Mildred. Of course I shall not be unsisterly. If I see that he prefers you, I shall do all in my power to help you; but, if he shows no decided preference, it will not be fair for you to interfere with me."
"He may not like either of us," said Mildred, who enjoyed nothing so much as irritating her sister.
"I have an idea that he is to be won; I feel almost certain of it. Sir Richard Hastings would be a good match, too; he is very wealthy and handsome—and so, for that matter, is Major Elton."
"What has that to do with it?" asked Mildred. "You have such confused ideas, Veronica. What was that story mamma was telling you about Lord Chandon?"
"Some doleful romance—I did not listen attentively. I think she said he was engaged, before his uncle's death, to marry some girl he was much attached to, and she ran away. She did something or other horrible, and then fled; I think that was it."