“I think that you are a very strange little person,” said her uncle. “You are too young to know anything of business matters; you must leave those things to your aunt and to me.”
“But I am your heiress, don’t forget. This room will be mine, and all that big estate outside, and the whole of this gloomy old house when you die. Is not that so?”
“It is so, my child.” The Squire could not help wincing when Evelyn pronounced his house gloomy. “But at the same time, my dear Evelyn, things of that sort are not spoken about—at least not in England.”
“Mothery and I spoke a lot about it; we used to sit for whole evenings by the fireside and discuss the time when I should come in for my property. I mean to make changes when my time comes. You don’t mind my saying so, do you?”
“I object to the subject altogether, Evelyn.” The Squire rose and faced his small heiress. “In England we don’t talk of these things, and now that you have come to England you must do as an English girl and a lady would. On your father’s side you are a lady, and you must allow your aunt and me to train you in the observances which constitute true ladyhood in England.”
Evelyn’s brown eyes flashed a very angry fire.
“I don’t wish to be different from my mother,” she said. “My mother was one of the most splendid women on earth. I wish to be exactly like her. I will not be a fine lady—not for anybody.”
“Well, dear, I respect you for being fond of your mother.”
“Fond of her!” said Evelyn; and a strange and intensely tragic look crossed the queer little face.
She was quite silent for nearly a minute, and Edward Wynford watched her with curiosity and pain mingled in his face. Her eyes reminded him of the brother whom he had so truly loved; in every other respect Evelyn was her mother over again.