“Judith is very ladylike and sweet,” said Marjorie softly, as if to herself.
“Madge, do you want to make me angry?” cried Mrs Rolph, indignantly. “Shame upon you! And it is partly your fault. You have been so cold and distant with him, when a few gentle words would have brought him to your side.”
“I am sure you would not have liked me to be different towards him. You would not have had me throw myself at his feet.”
The words were as gentle-sounding as could be, but all the same there was a suggestion of strength behind, if the speaker cared to exert it.
“No, no, it is not your fault, my dear,” cried Mrs Rolph, angrily; “it is mine, I can see it all now. It was a foolish mistake having her here. Educating a girl like that is a great error, and I see it now that it is too late. Oh, Madge, dear, if I could see him happily wedded to you, how different things might be. But I declare that nothing shall ever induce me to consent. If he will go on in utter rebellion to his mother, he must do so.”
“But is it too late, aunt?”
“Unless you rouse yourself up to the position, act like a woman of the world, and drag him from this wretched girl. Oh, it is too disgraceful. If I had only thought to send her away before his regiment was quartered so near.”
“Yes,” said Marjorie, musingly, “but it is too late now.”
“Then you will not try?”
“I did not say so. Here he is.”