“I say so. It is really sickening to see how you try to attract Mr. Temple. You seem to forget that he is rich, or going to be, and that you will only be a poor governess.”
“I think it is mean, Imogene, to remind me of my poverty before strangers.”
“I wouldn’t if you didn’t put on so many airs. Really it is sickening.”
“If we were to change places I would not taunt you with your dependence.”
“Wait till I am dependent,” said Imogene. “I flatter myself there is no fear of that. My father is the wealthiest man in the town, which is fortunate for you. Although you are permitted to share in the same advantages with his children, you ought always to remember your true position. You ought to be more respectful to me and James, for, though we are your cousins, we are far above you in social position.”
Poor Mary! It was not the first time she had been compelled to listen to such admonitions from her haughty cousin.
She left the room with an aching heart. Her material wants were provided for—she lacked not for food or clothing—but she sought in vain for the sympathy which the heart craves. She felt that she was regarded with disdain by her uncle’s family, and she longed for the time when she could throw off the thralldom of dependence and earn her own living.
“I hate her!” said Imogene to herself, as her cousin closed the door. “With her meek face and cajoling ways, she is artfully trying to get Tom Temple interested in her. She sha’n’t succeed if I can help it. I’ll show him her real character. I wish pa would send her off to some cheap boarding-school.”