“I don’t know,” said Violante. “They’ve set up a very handsome carriage.”
“Dear me! It is a mystery,” said Mrs Max, still weeping. “Two years ago Richard was our poor tenant; now he must be worth thousands. I hope he is honest.”
“Perhaps we had better work him some texts,” said Violante, maliciously. Then, raising her other eye, “They might do him good.”
“I don’t know,” sighed Mrs Max; “we never see them now they have grown so rich. It is very shocking.”
Violante did not seem to see that it was shocking, for she only tossed her head.
“Has Tom been any more attentive to you lately, my dear?”
“No, not a bit,” said the girl spitefully, and one eye flashed at Mrs Max; “nor Fred neither,” she continued, bestowing a milder ray with the other.
“The infatuation will wear off,” said Mrs Max, wringing her hands, but seeming as if wringing her pocket-handkerchief, “and then one of them will come to his senses.”
“I shall never marry Tom,” cried the girl decidedly. “Don’t speak so, my child,” said Mrs Max. “You know your guardian has so arranged it; and he can withhold your money if you are disobedient.”
“Yes,” cried Violante, “money, money, money—always money. That’s why I am kept for the pleasure of those two scapegraces, and mocked at by that saucy hussy of a Jessie. I wish I hadn’t a penny.”