“Good heavens! mamma is going to take up her residence here,” whispered Bessie to Alick, who was seated within earshot.
“Well, Heather, I really wonder at you,” said Squire Dudley, laying down his knife and fork; “I did think you had more sense of what was due to yourself and to me than to accept a favour at the hands of such an arrant snob as Compton Raidsford, a man who looks down upon us all, who thinks more of his hundreds of thousands than of having come of an ancient family, of having good blood in one’s veins.”
“That’s right, Arthur; that’s what brings down the galleries,” remarked Bessie. “Go on. In this money-loving age——”
“Oh! of course you stand up for trade,” retorted Arthur.
“Of course, I think so I ought, when every morsel I put in my lips, every article of clothing I put on my back, is paid for by trade.”
“Bessie,” interposed Mrs. Ormson, “how often am I to tell you it is not polite to speak of personal matters in general society?”
“If this be general society, I sit rebuked,” said Bessie, while Heather pleaded—
“Without downright rudeness I could not have refused Mr. Raidsford’s offer, Arthur. I could not, indeed. He was so very kind and pressing, so cordial, in fact, that I felt it would be ungracious to decline. Would it have been possible to refuse? Mrs. Ormson, do you think it would?”
“On the contrary, I consider it would have been the height, as you say, of rudeness,” replied that lady, for once deciding against the Squire. “And, for my part, I think Mr. Raidsford a most gentlemanly person, quite above his origin. I can assure you, I never enjoyed a journey more in my life, and the drive from Palinsbridge was delightful. And to see how every one touched their hats to him,” finished Mrs. Ormson, forgetting in her enthusiasm that such a person as Lindley Murray had ever existed.
“Touch their hats, indeed!” repeated Arthur, with a muttered oath.