“But, ’cording to my lights, I’m seeking to do my duty towards the orphan child of my sister Amelia Ann.”
“Not overlooking the fact, I suppose, that the orphan child of your sister Amelia Ann has a very fair income of her own.”
Captain Bontnor smiled blandly, and smoothed his hat with his sleeve.
“Not overlooking that fact, marm,” he said, “if you choose to take it so.”
Mrs. Harrington turned to Eve again with a faint reflex of her overbearing manner towards the Ingham-Bakers and other persons who found it expedient to submit.
“You will see at a glance,” she said, “that it is impossible for you to live with Captain Bontnor.”
“I have already accepted his kind offer,” returned the girl. “Thank you, nevertheless.”
“But,” said Mrs. Harrington, “that was before you knew that I was ready to make a home for you.”
Captain Bontnor had turned away. He blew his nose so loudly that Mrs. Harrington frowned. There was something trumpet-like and defiant in the sound. Opposition had ever a strange effect on this spoilt woman. She liked it, as serving to enhance the value of the wish which she rarely failed to gratify in the end.
“You must remember your position,” she continued. “These are very democratic days, when silly people think that all men are equal. A lady is nevertheless still a lady, and a gentleman a gentleman, though one does not often meet them. I wish you to come and live with me.”