It was an old plea, fallacious often, but none the less effective. Millicent was devoid of officious self-righteousness, but she was endowed with a compassionate tenderness which prompted her to extend help to all who needed it. She thought that Clarence did so, but in spite of that she did not feel so responsive as she could have wished.
“There is one difficulty,” she answered while the blood crept into her face. “I’ll own that I recognized what your ideas and George’s were about Clarence and myself. I may go so far. But of late there has been nothing to show that Clarence desired to carry out those ideas.”
Mrs. Gladwyne gathered her courage.
“My dear, it is rather hard to say, but the truth is that a declaration from a man is not usually quite spontaneous. He looks for some tacit encouragement, a sign that one is not altogether indifferent to him. Now it has struck me that during the past year you have rather stood aloof from my son.”
Millicent started slightly; there was some truth in this statement. Mrs. Gladwyne, however, was not wise enough to stop.
“I think that is why there is some risk of his falling into bad hands—that Crestwick girl isn’t diffident,” she went on. “I know the strong regard he has for you; but the girl sees a good deal of him, and a man is sometimes easily led where he does not mean to go.”
Millicent’s cheeks burned.
“Do you wish me to compete openly for Clarence’s favor with Bella Crestwick?”
Mrs. Gladwyne spread out her hands in protest.
“Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed. “I have said the wrong thing. I warned you that you might have to forgive me.”