“Oh, ma’am, I have prayed the Lord to bless the day for Ran’s sake, but my heart misgives me, ma’am,” sighed Judy.
“That is very natural, but in your case very unreasonable, my child. I never knew nuptials more promising for future happiness than are yours and Randolph’s.”
“Oh, but, ma’am, am I a fit wife for a gentleman?”
“Not for every gentleman; for there are not so many gentlemen who would be as worthy of you as Randolph Hay is. But why should you think that you are not fit for him?”
“Oh, ma’am, I am only a poor, ignorant girl, and, with all the pains you and Mrs. Moseley have taken with me, I have not been able to improve much. Only yesterday I forgot my manners before the strange lady.”
“You mean that you fell for a moment into the sweet dialect of your childhood? That did no harm, Judy. And, besides, when you go to London you will soon drop it altogether.”
“We are to live in retirement, to be sure, until we are both trained for society, I know. But still, for all that, I fear I am doing Ran a wrong to marry him.”
“Look here, Judy! You and Randolph were engaged to be married to each other, I think, while you were both in the miners’ camp—you a miner’s sister; Ran a miner and the partner of your brother. You, neither of you, dreamed of any higher position or better fortune than luck in the mines might bring you. Is it not so?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Very well, then. Now suppose that it had been to you, instead of to Randolph, that the unexpected fortune had come? Suppose that some nobleman of high rank and wealth had suddenly come forward and claimed you as his lost child and heiress, would you then have broken off with poor Ran, because he was only a poor miner?”