“That will do, Rose. Say nothing in a hurry. Remember what James has written on the subject of bridling that unruly member, the tongue, and hold your peace. I have only one piece of advice for you, my girl: Ask yourself whether you want to spend the rest of your life in your natural element, or out of it?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Rose declared, knowing only too well.
“I shan’t bear you a grudge, if you take the chance of bettering yourself, and it might be a very good thing for your boy. But it’ll be the parting of the ways for you and me, and for you and any other friends you may have in your own walk of life; so if you go into it, you must go into it with your eyes open, that’s all. That titled friend of yours is all very well—I haven’t a word to say against him—but you mark my words, Rose, he’s not a mixer, and he never will be. Now if it was that doctor friend of yours, it would be another thing altogether——”
“Oh,” Rose became suddenly reflective.
“Is Dr. Lucian what you’d call a good mixer, Uncle?”
“Certainly. Both by nature and in consequence of his profession. And though I’m not saying you’d not be doing very well for yourself in marrying him, it wouldn’t be the same thing as taking upon yourself the responsibilities of joining up with titled folk, Rose.”
“Jim was Lord Charlesbury’s class, you know.”
“I do know, indeed. And a deplorable business you and he made of your marriage, from all accounts. His death was a merciful release for you.”
“Well, he was a bad lot,” Rose pointed out, without acrimony.
“And this Lord Charlesbury is not. But you have many times complained to me of your inability to feel at home with the Aviolets and their friends, and your disinclination for their mode of life. Ask yourself, therefore, whether you would find it any easier to do yourself credit as the wife of Lord Charlesbury, or any other lord?”