"Hilda!" said her mother apprehensively, for Mr. Arkel was the second string to Hilda's bow, and it was supposed would inherit the Manor House. "That must not be."
"Oh, so far as I am concerned, they can please themselves. If Mr. Arkel prefers red hair and freckles, he can do so. Major Dundas may have better taste."
"But he is not rich, dear—he will never be."
"How do you know that?" retorted Hilda, who made a rule of contradicting her mother on principle. "Mr. Barton may make him his heir instead of Gerald Arkel. Or for that matter, I shouldn't be surprised if the horrid old thing left his money to an asylum."
"Be sure of that before you marry either of them," said the anxious mother. "Unless," with a touch of romance, "you are in love with——"
"Love!" Hilda echoed the word with fine contempt. "I want money, not love. Either Major Dundas or Gerald would make a good enough husband. I like Gerald the best—he is better looking and not so dull as the Major. But I'd marry anyone—even old Barton, much as I hate him, to get out of this pig-sty."
"It is your only home," said Mrs. Marsh with dignity.
"That's exactly why I want to get out of it, mother. If that red-haired governess tries any of her pranks, trust me, I won't spare her."
"Whatever do you mean, Hilda?"
"Never you mind, mother," Miss Marsh nodded mysteriously. "I've been talking with Mrs. Darrow, and she says—well, don't bother about it just now. But Miss Crane—if that is what her name is—is no saint, believe me. I'm not altogether sure that she's respectable."