“But, mamma, you never thought Frank Morrison plebeian,” said Gertrude, raising her bright grey eyes to bring them to bear on her dignified mother, who was arranging the lace about her plump white throat.
“My dear child, comparisons are odious, and at your age you should allow people to think for you. Does it ever occur to you that your mother’s sole wish—the object for which she almost entirely lives—is to see her child happily settled in life? No, no; don’t speak, please: you hurt me. I consented to your sister Renée’s union with Frank for many reasons. Certainly his family is plebeian, but he is a young man whom I am rejoiced to see determined to make use of his wealth to his own elevation—to marry well, and be the founder of a new family of gentry.”
“But I’m sure Renée is not happy, mamma.”
“Then, in her position, it is her own fault, my dear, of course. I had been married years before I had a second carriage. Once for all, there is no comparison between Frank and this Mr Huish. If it had not been out of commiseration for your uncle Robert—it being his wish—Mr Huish would not have been received here at all.”
Gertrude bit her nether lip, and bent lower over her work as sweet and lovable a face as girl of twenty could have.
“Your uncle is a most unhappy man; and if he were not so rich people would call him insane, living such an absurd life as he does. I often feel as if I must go and rouse him up, and force him to act like a Christian. By the way, you have not been to see him lately?”
“No, mamma.”
“Call, then, soon. He must not be neglected. We have our duties to do, and that is one of them. He is always kind to you?”
“Always, mamma.”
“That is right. You must humour him, for he seems to have taken a most unnatural dislike to Richard.”