“From whom?” he demanded instantly.
“Perhaps I have only imagined them,—or,” and she patted the cover of one of Mr Morgan’s gifts and laughed, “met with them in books.”
“There is a lot of pernicious trash written,” observed William. “It puts ideas in girls’ heads.”
“You wouldn’t wish even a girl’s head empty of ideas, would you?”
“I would wish it empty of nonsense,” he answered sharply. “A woman should be satisfied to look after her home, and—all that.”
This being non-committal and liberal of interpretation, Prudence let it pass unchallenged. She was so familiar with William’s ideas about woman and her place in the scheme of things, and appreciated his opinion so little that she was satisfied to leave him to the undisputed enjoyment of his views. It was William’s own misfortune that he could never emerge from the rut into which he had floundered. He had long ago persuaded himself into the belief that his rut was the open road.
Feeling that he had said sufficient to add the weight of his approval to the balance in favour of Mr Morgan, William left his sister to digest his words; and subsequently informed his father that he entertained small doubt that if Edward Morgan did Prudence the honour of asking her to be his wife she would accept him. He believed she would appreciate the compliment of such an offer.
Prudence herself was less confident. She was indeed so undecided that the respite allowed her came as a relief. It gave her time for consideration of the matter. She did not love Edward Morgan; but he held open the door of freedom, and she feared that if she missed this opportunity of passing through, it might never open for her again.
There followed a period of waiting and uncertainty and general boredom, during which the ankle grew well and she was able to leave the sofa and walk in the garden. It was then that the loss of her cycle became once more a source of acute annoyance.
“You had no right to sell it, daddy,” she complained; “it was mine. You’ll have to buy me a new one.”