She flung the cause of her uncertainty across the counterpane to her gentlewoman with a contemptuous gesture.
“It is an experiment,” said she. “I dare say it is not wise for a woman of my age to add to her responsibilities. We shall see. At any rate, Burden, you are getting tiresome, and Ponto is getting fat.”
“I feel sure she will be a sweet girl,” Miss Burden ventured to say.
“Why do you think so?”
“Girlhood is so delightful,” said Miss Burden. “All young things are so adorable.”
“Burden,” said the old lady, ruthlessly, “you are a fool.”
Miss Burden blushed faintly, as she always did when her birthright was applied to her scornfully. Yet it was a trial she had had daily to endure for many years past. She had been called a fool so often that she had come to believe that she was one. And that is the kind of belief that renders the human lot very hard. The faint tinge of shame that dyed the cheek of the poor, sensitive, downtrodden dependent was the sign manual of something that lay too deep for tears.
“It is a dangerous experiment,” said the old lady. “At my age I ought to know better than to try experiments. I hope the creature will be decently bred.”
“Surely, dear Lady Crewkerne,” said Miss Burden, “a girl of poor dear Lady Augusta’s can hardly fail to be that.”
“The father is quite a common man; a person of no particular family. And, unfortunately, girls take after their fathers.”