“You talk as if she was your own daughter,” said Harriet, who was growing deeply annoyed.
“Ever since I gave her my name and my roof, I have looked on her as a gal of my own.”
“Yes, that we have,” chimed Eliza tearfully. “And I am sure that Joe is right to take the matter up.”
Again Harriet dissented. In her view, and she did not hesitate to express it forcibly, it would be sheer folly for people like themselves to meddle in such a delicate affair.
“It seems to me,” said Eliza bitterly, “that rather than go against Bridport House, you would ruin the girl.”
The words struck home. Eliza had long looked up to her younger sister. The position she held was one of honor, but Harriet’s exaggerated concern for an imposing machine of which she was no more than a very humble cog, somehow aroused Eliza’s deepest feelings.
“It is a very wicked thing to say.” And in the eyes of Harriet was an odd look.
“You set these grandees above everything in the world,” Eliza taunted. “Like the Dad, you simply worship them.”
A deadly pallor overspread Harriet’s face. Her eyes grew grim with pain and anger. But a powerful nature, schooled to self-discipline, fought for control and was able to gain it.
“It’s a futile discussion,” she said suddenly, in a changed tone. And then she added with an earnestness strangely touching. “Joe, I implore you not to take any step in the matter without first consulting me.”