“But indeed he is not, he was cheated; the swindler was Maddox.”
“Oh, but he was a glass-blower, or something, I know, and her sister is a governess. I am sure it is no fault of mine! The parties I gave to get him and Jessie Douglas together! Donald was quite savage about the bills. And after all Uncle Colin went and caught cold, and would not come! I would not have minded half so much if it had been Jessie Douglas; but to have her at Gowanbrae—a glass-blower’s daughter—isn’t it too bad?”
“Her father was a clergyman of a good Welsh family.”
“Was he? Then her brother or somebody had something to do with glass.”
Attempts at explanation were vain, the good lady had an incapacity of attention, and was resolved on her grievance. She went away at last because “those horrid doctors will be gone now, and I will be able to see poor papa, and tell him when I will take home the baby, though I don’t believe he will live to be taken anywhere, poor dear little man.”
She handled him go much more scientifically than Rachel could do, that it was quite humiliating, and yet to listen to her talk, and think of committing any child to her charge was sickening, and Rachel already felt a love and pity for her little charge that made her wretched at the thoughts of the prognostic about him.
“You are tired with your visitors my dear,” said Mr. Clare, holding out his hand towards her, when she returned to him.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“By the sound of your move across the room, and the stream of talk I heard above must be enough to exhaust any one.”
“She thinks badly of that poor child,” said Rachel, her voice trembling.