“Yes, I knew you must be pulling the poor child to pieces,” said Frederick, seating himself by the fire. “What have you got to say against her? She is not cut in the common fashion, like all the other girls whom one sees about—and is sick of.”
“I should think the other girls cared very little whether you were sick of them or not,” retorted Nelly, affronted.
Mr. Frederick Eastwood was one of the young men who entertain a contempt for women, founded on the incontestable consciousness of their own superiority; and it was one of his theories that all women were jealous of each other. Even his mother, he felt, would “pull” the new comer “to pieces,” out of pure feminine spite.
“Hush, children,” said Mrs. Eastwood; “we have nothing to do with other girls for the moment. This one is very unresponsive, I am afraid. You have seen more of her than we have, Frederick. Had she any friends out yonder? Did she seem to you affectionate?”
Frederick laughed. “I have no reason to complain of any want of affectionateness,” he said, pulling his peaked beard with that supreme satisfaction of gratified vanity which no woman can tolerate. Mrs. Eastwood and Nelly looked at each other with a common wrath, but the mother put up a finger to suppress the impatience of her child.
“Yes, she seemed to turn to you,” she said, with as much indifference in her voice as was practicable. “Ring for tea now, Nelly. Frederick will like to get up-stairs early after his journey. I saw Mr. Bellingham at the office after I got your letter, Frederick. He made rather a joke of your illness, poor boy. I hope you will not wish to go away for some time again. I am told that, though promotion is by seniority, those young men who are most to be depended on are the ones who get secretaryships, and so forth—and you know your income, my dear boy, is but small——”
“Those who get secretaryships, and so forth, are those who have private influence,” said Frederick loftily, “which is not my case, mother. Whoever told you so told you stuff and nonsense. Men in office take their own sons and nephews, or their friends’ sons and nephews, for their private secretaries—and fellows like me have no chance.”
“But Mr. Bellingham, I am sure, had no private influence,” urged Mrs. Eastwood; “it must have been merit in his case——”
“There was some political reason, I suppose,” said Frederick. “Merit is humbug, you may take my word for that. By-the-bye, I think I will just step out to the club for half an hour to see what is going on. It is rather a fine night——”
“But after your illness, Frederick——”