“Goodness, Madelene, you talk as if she were about twelve years old,” said Philip irritably. “When are you going to allow the poor girl to consider herself grown-up? At her age, you—”
“It is no good going back upon what I was,” Miss St Quentin interrupted. “I was quite different, and circumstances were quite different. I do my best with Ella, though I fear I don’t succeed in making her happy. It has been a sore subject.”
“When—when Ermine goes, you must make more of a companion of her,” Sir Philip suggested. “And then—some day—if Ella goes in the same way—”
“It would simplify matters of course; that is to say if it was for her happiness,” said Madelene, half reluctantly, it seemed to Ella.
“I should rather think it would. Why then Omar might take up his quarters here for good. He would be a perfect right-hand to Uncle Marcus. I can understand your feeling that with Ella here it might not be a pleasant or natural position for him. Uncle Marcus scarcely counts as a third person—he is so much in his own room.”
“Philip, don’t talk about it,” said Madelene decidedly. “You almost seem to want to tempt me into wishing Ella away. Very certainly with both her and my father in a sense on my hands I have no right to undertake other ties. And if both Ermine and I married, it would complicate matters financially, you know.”
“Yes, I do know,” said Philip, “and I repeat what I said. It would be a very good thing if Ella—”
“Oh, do be quiet, Philip,” said Madelene in a tone almost of entreaty. “She is much too young, and—by the time there is any prospect of her being provided for, it will be too late for me.”
Sir Philip gave a sort of grunt, which did not express assent, but he said no more.
“It is cold in here,” said Madelene. “Come back to the library.”