"I mean to marry Herbert some day because I love him," answered her daughter, coolly; "but I will not run away with him unless you force me to it; and I hope, by-and-by, when Geraldine is grown up and can take my place, that you will give us your consent and your blessing. I am quite willing to wait a reasonable time for the chance of it."
"Is it likely that I shall give my consent to your marrying a young man picked up nobody knows where—out of the gutter, most likely? Who are his people, I should like to know?"
"I daresay his father is as well connected as mine," answered Beatrice, who knew all about her mother's having married a parvenu.
"Beatrice, I am ashamed of you, sneering at your own father!"
"I beg your pardon, mamma; I did not mean to sneer, but you say very trying things; and Mr. Pryme is a gentleman, and every bit as good as we are!"
"And where is the money to be found for this precious marriage, I should like to know? Do you suppose Mr. Pryme can support you?"
"Oh dear, no; but I know papa will not let me starve."
And Mrs. Miller knew it too. However angry she might be, and however unsuitably Beatrice might choose to marry, Mr. Miller would never allow his daughter to be insufficiently provided for. Beatrice's marriage portion would be a small fortune to a poor young man.
"It is your money he is after!" she said, angrily.
"I don't think so, mamma; and of course of that I am the best judge."