“That I won’t believe,” said the robust Milly. “And if a fit of high-falutin’ sentiment, for which you’ll get not an ounce of credit, causes you to throw away your happiness, and turn your life into a sob-story, neither my mother nor I will ever forgive you, so there!”
“You seem to forget that I am the housekeeper’s niece.”
“As though it mattered.” The pert nose twitched furiously. “As though it matters a row of little apples. You are yourself—your big and splendid self. Any man is lucky to get you.”
But the large, long-lashed eyes were full of pain. “We look at things so differently. I can’t explain what I mean or what I feel, but I want to see the whole thing, if I can, as others see it.”
“We are the others—mother and I,” said Milly, stoutly. “But as we are not titled snobs with Bridport House stamped on our notepaper, I suppose we don’t count.”
“That’s not fair.” A curious look came into Mary’s face, which Milly had noticed before and, for a reason she couldn’t explain, somehow resented. “They have their point of view and it’s right that they should have. Without it they wouldn’t be what they are, would they?”
“You speak as if they were better than other people.”
“Why, of course.”
“I shall begin to think you are as bad as they are,” Milly burst out impatiently. “You are the oddest creature. I can understand your not going where you are not wanted, but that’s no reason why you should fight for the other side.”
“I want them to have fair play.”