“To you, mother,” said Cora sternly; and the stoutly-built, brazen-looking virago shrank from her daughter’s fierce gaze. “You must not forget yourself here, among all these respectable people.”
“And pray who’s going to? But I don’t know so much about your respectability. That Colonel, with his queer looks like the devil in ‘Dr Faustus,’ is no better than he should be.”
“The Colonel is a man of the world like the rest,” said Cora coldly.
“Yes, and a nice man of the world, too. And that old Linnell’s living apart from his wife. I know though—”
“Silence!”
“Now look here, Betsy, I won’t have you say silence to me like that. This here isn’t the stage, and we aren’t playing parts. Just you speak to me proper, madam.”
“Mother, I will not have you speak of Mr Linnell like that.”
“Ho, indeed! And why not, pray? Now, look here, Betsy,” she cried, holding up a warning finger, “I won’t have no nonsense there. I’m not a fool. I know the world. I’ve seen you sighing and looking soft when we’ve passed that young fellow downstairs.”
Cora’s eyes seemed to burn as she fixedly returned her mother’s look.
“Oh, you may stare, madam; but I can see more than you think. Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, making eyes at a poor, penniless fiddler, when you might—”