“You are nothing but a fool,” said Mrs. Wren. “You’ll never get such a chance again. I’d like to shake you.”
Mary had no fight left in her. She sat on the sofa a picture of dismay. For the first time she saw mother and daughter as they really were, in all their native crudeness; yet when the worst was said of them they had a generosity of soul which made them suffer on her account; and that fact alone seemed to leave her at their mercy.
“You’ve no right to let them ruin your life and his,” said Milly pitilessly.
“One simply can’t go where one isn’t wanted,” said Mary at last with a face of ashes.
Mrs. Wren took up the phrase, the first the girl had been able to utter in her own defense, and flung it back. “Not wanted forsooth! Who are they that they should pick and choose! A dead charge on the community—neither more nor less.”
“No one can’t,” said Mary, tormentedly. “How could one!”
“Rubbish!” said Mrs. Wren. “You can’t afford to be so proud. From the way you talk you might be the Queen of England.”
The girl shook her head. “And it isn’t quite fair that they should have to put up with me.”
Those unfortunate words were made to recoil upon her heavily. Both her assailants were frankly amazed that she should want to look at the matter from the enemy point of view. To such a mind as Mrs. Wren’s it could only mean that Bridport House had hypnotized her with the semblance of place and power.
“I could shake you,” re-affirmed the good lady. “A girl as first-rate as you are has no right to be a snob.”