"Well," observed Gwendolen drily, "I understand that Captain Brooke knows the worst of her, so I suppose that is all right."
"But think of his past life, my dear—the son of a poor ignorant Boer farmer—another Alfred Dow, only worse! And, with his money, his wife and he will be in the county set, while we, in consequence of Barbara's conduct, will have to hide our heads in disgrace."
"I don't see any disgrace in marrying Alfred Dow," bluntly observed Madeline, who was also present.
"With our position and family connections—"
"That does seem such tommy-rot, mother. We couldn't all five have married Lance Burmester, even if he had wanted to marry one of us, which, of course, he never did. And he's the only man we were allowed to think about as a parti. Except for Gwendolen's affair with Freshfield—"
"Oblige me by not slandering your sister," cut in the vicar.
"Tommy-rot again, father," calmly said Gwendolen, who laughed. "You know, mother knows, I know, how near we were then to a scandal of the most serious kind. I wonder how many girls in the world would have held their tongue about that as Millie has, after the way we girls let her in! What liars she thought us! I say, let Barbara marry a good man if she likes, and live the life she likes. I would have married Alfred Dow like a shot if he had asked me. Far better than slaving away as I do, teaching other people's children."
The vicar, in wrath, said something about the dignity of teaching.
"Yes; if you have brains or education," retorted Gwendolen coolly. "I have neither. I am only fit to be a farmer's wife."
"Your mother had no more," began the vicar, in his most weighty tones.