At the same moment Gertrude was pitying herself, and struggling against her own wishes.
“I have read too much, I suppose,” she said to herself, “and have formed romantic ideas, and consequently George seems so different from what I pictured him to be. He is so rough and common in his ways; but what could I have expected, after the life he has led? But don’t be afraid, uncle, dearest,” she murmured. “I am going to be your dutiful child—I am going to be his wife; and I shall try so hard to wean him from anything that is not nice, and we shall be very happy, I am sure. Does he love me?”
Gertrude had a hard riddle to solve there, and she sat gazing thoughtfully before her for some time.
“I think so. He is always very gentle and kind to me, and he seems to wish for our marriage to take place soon; but somehow or other he cares more for Saul Harrington’s company than mine. It seems strange—very strange,” he said thoughtfully. “Saul Harrington is always coming here, too, now, and it does not seem as if he were attracted by me, but to be always with George; and I mistrust him—I mistrust him.”
Gertrude’s thoughts were interrupted by her companion, who, after watching her in a fidgety manner for some time, suddenly dropped her work in her lap, raised a great knitting-pin in a menacing way as if to defend herself against attack, and said, in a harsh, strident voice:
“And he told me I was an old goose.”
“Mrs Hampton! Who did?”
“Mr Hampton, my dear; last night, when we went to bed.”
“Mr Hampton!”
“Ah, you don’t understand, my dear; but I have been thinking it all over, and it’s my duty and I will. Mr Hampton said I was not to interfere—that I was to stay here as long as you wished, and then that you had better come and stay with us.”