“But, grannie, why did you marry Mr Oldcastle?”
“What does the child mean?”
“Uncle Stoddart says you refused ever so many offers when you were a girl.”
“Uncle Stoddart has no business to be talking about such things to a chit like you,” returned the grandmother smiling, however, at the charge, which so far certainly contained no reproach.
“And grandpapa was the ugliest and the richest of them all—wasn’t he, grannie? and Colonel Markham the handsomest and the poorest?”
A flush of anger crimsoned the old lady’s pale face. It looked dead no longer.
“Hold your tongue,” she said. “You are rude.”
And Miss Gladwyn did hold her tongue, but nothing else, for she was laughing all over.
The relation between these two was evidently a very odd one. It was clear that Miss Gladwyn was a spoiled child, though I could not help thinking her very nicely spoiled, as far as I saw; and that the old lady persisted in regarding her as a cub, although her claws had grown quite long enough to be dangerous. Certainly, if things went on thus, it was pretty clear which of them would soon have the upper hand, for grannie was vulnerable, and Pet was not.
It really began to look as if there were none but characters in my parish. I began to think it must be the strangest parish in England, and to wonder that I had never heard of it before. “Surely it must be in some story-book at least!” I said to myself.