"She would not have loved him," said Lady Randolph with emphasis. "We women love the things which we are taught to believe are lovable. You, Betty, have been trained, trained, I say, to love things and people of good report. It was otherwise with your mother."
"And my father," added Betty. "I have always known that I was handicapped. Yes; I have been trained to see—it's a question of observation, isn't it?—to see and admire what is good in everything and everybody, but you don't know what a materialist I am. I delight in your flesh-pots. Why just now, when I was trying to walk with Mark through those horrible slums, I found myself thinking of what——? That delicious macédoine we had last night!"
Lady Randolph laughed.
"It's no laughing matter. I'm greedy; I spend too much time thinking of chiffons; and I spend too much money buying them; I adore great things, but I cannot give up small things. I want to run with the hare and course with the hounds. Lots of girls try to do both—and succeed in a feeble sort of way: a fast on Friday and feast on Saturday diet—eh?"
"In Stepney——" began Lady Randolph.
Betty seized her hands. "Why should I go to Stepney?" she whispered, blushing. "I'll be honest with you."
"I hope so, my dear."
"Mark is going to ask me to marry him. It may be to-day, or to-morrow, or the day after, but it's coming; and I shall fling myself into his arms."
"Betty!"
"I haven't a spark of pride left. His long silence smothered it. Do you know that I have been at the back of all his ambitions? He wanted to be a famous soldier, because when we were babies I said I must marry a fighting man."