“I should make him a better man, Mrs Hampton,” said Gertrude proudly.
“You would worry yourself into your grave, Gertrude, and if you marry him, I shall order my mourning at once, for you do not, and never will love him.”
“Now you are laughing at me,” said Gertrude, brightening up, and taking the old lady’s withered hands in her soft, plump little palms. “It is impossible to follow out your proposal, and I shall marry George Harrington for my dear uncle’s sake.”
“And be a wretched woman for life.”
“No, Mrs Hampton; even at the worst, I shall have the happy consciousness of having done my duty; but there will be no worse. I shall win.”
Mrs Hampton shook her head.
“Yes,” repeated Gertrude; “I shall win, and bring him to the right way. He cannot refuse to listen to me. Surely a weak trusting woman has power over even the strongest man.”
“In novels, and poems, and plays, my dear, more than in real life, I am afraid,” said Mrs Hampton, with a sigh of resignation; “but remember this, my dear, when in the future you recall all I have said—No, no, no, my darling; I can’t stoop to talk to you like that. Gertie, my child, I am very sorry, but I am going to help you carry out your noble resolve with all my heart.”
“Mrs Hampton?” cried Gertrude joyously.
“Yes, my dear; and if women can win, we’ll make a hero of George Harrington—good Heavens! what’s that?”