“My dear boy, you forget the difference of position,” said Mrs. Copperhead. “They are Dissenters.”
“Oh, I like that,” cried Clarence, half angry, as himself sharing the disadvantages of the connection. “A needy beggar like May has a great deal to stand upon. I like that.”
“But it is true all the same,” said Mrs. Copperhead, shaking her head. “And you can see the difference at once. I dare say Miss Beecham is a very clever young woman, but between her and Miss May what a difference there is! Any one can see it—”
“I am afraid then I am stupid, for I can't see it, mother. They are both pretty girls, but for amusing you and that sort of thing give me Phœbe. She is worth twenty of the other. As sharp as a needle, and plenty to say for herself. This is the kind of girl I like.”
“I am very sorry for it. I hope that is not the kind of wife you will like,” said Mrs. Copperhead, with a sigh.
“Oh, wife! they haven't a penny, either the one or the other,” said Clarence, with delightful openness, “and we may be sure that would not suit the governor even if it suited me.”
In the mean time Mrs. Beecham and Phœbe were walking up the broad pavement of Portland Place towards their home.
“It is pleasant to see the mother and the son together,” said Mrs. Beecham, who was determined to see everything in the best light that concerned the Copperheads. “They are so devoted to each other, and, Phœbe, dear—I don't like to talk in this way to a sensible girl like you, but you must see it with your own eyes. You have certainly made a great impression upon Clarence Copperhead. When he said he hoped to see you in Carlingford, and asked, might he call? it was exactly like asking my permission to pay you his addresses; it is very flattering, but it is embarrassing as well.”
“I do not feel particularly flattered, mamma; and I think if I were you I would not give him the address.”
Mrs. Beecham looked anxiously in her daughter's face.