Berry, blushing almost as red as the rose on her breast, answered carelessly:
“Oh, I just thought of standing at the gate to see the people going up to the lawn fête at the hall to-night, you know.”
“And wishing in your heart you could go, too, silly child; ain’t you, now? Well, you’re pretty enough to be there, if that was all, Berry, but it isn’t, more’s the pity for you, so don’t waste any regret on it, dearie, for remember the true saying: ‘Poor folks have to have poor ways.’”
“I don’t think it should be the way, mamma, for I’ve often heard it said that clothes don’t make the man—nor woman, either! For instance, now, Miss Rosalind Montague is no better, nor prettier, than I am, if she were stripped of her fine clothes and jewels!”
“Fie, fie! you vain little chick, I’m surprised at your talk. Let me hear no more of it. You must be contented in the sphere where Heaven has placed you, Berry. Or, if you wish to better your lot, you have a fine chance before you now.”
“What do you mean?” gasped Berry breathlessly.
“You have another proposal of marriage—one from a rich man!”
“Oh, mamma!” gasped Berry joyously, her eyes beaming, her cheeks aflame.
She could think of one—only one lover—at this moment.
How quickly he had found out her mother, how impetuous he was, her handsome lover—how impetuous, how adorable!