"I'll not get along," exclaimed Miss Bettina, her face darkening. "I attempt to say a little word to you for your good, for your own interest, and you tell me 'to get along!' How dare you, Caroline Davenal?"
"Oh, Aunt Bettina! I said we should get along."
"I don't know that you would get along if you married Mark Cray. I don't like Mark Cray. I did not think"----
"Why don't you like him, aunt?"
"I don't know," replied Miss Bettina. "He is too light and careless. I did not think it a wise step of your uncle's to take him into partnership; but it was not my province to interfere. The Crays brought it to nothing, you know. Lived like princes for a few years, and when affairs came to be looked into on Mr. Cray's death, the money was gone."
"That was not Mark's fault," returned Caroline, indignantly. "It ought to be no reason for your disliking him, Aunt Bettina."
"It gives one prejudices, you see. He may be bringing it to the same in his own case before his life's over."
"You might as well say the same of Oswald," resentfully spoke Caroline.
"No; Oswald's different. He is worth a thousand of Mark. Don't think of Mark, Caroline. You might do so much better: better in all ways."
"I don't care to do better," was the rebellious answer. And then, half-frightened at it, repenting of its insolence, poor Caroline burst into tears. She felt very indignant at the disparagement of Mark. Fortunately for her, Miss Davenal mistook the words.