“Not glad, I hope,” said Margaret. “Sorry for Uncle Giles and all the rest. But she is not so bad as that. No, no, she is not. You don’t see—she wants to assert all her rights, to show you and me how strong she is, and how she scorns us. On ordinary occasions she is not like this.”
“You are either absurdly charitable in your thoughts, or else you want to throw dust in my eyes, Cousin Meg.”
“Nothing of the kind; I do neither. It is quite true. She is not bad in character at all. She will be kind to Uncle Giles, and probably improve his condition. We have all had a blind confidence in Dunning, and perhaps he doesn’t deserve it. She wants to get Uncle Giles into her own hands, and she will do so. But he will not suffer; I am sure of it.”
“Poor old gentleman! It is hard to be old, to be handed from one to another. And will he accept it?” Colonel Piercey said.
“She will be very nice and kind, and she is young and pretty.”
“Oh, not—not that!”
“You are prejudiced, Cousin Gerald. She is pretty when you see her in her proper aspect, and there can be no doubt she is young. Her voice is nice and soft. It is almost like a lady’s voice. Hush! I think I hear her coming back!” Margaret rose hurriedly. “Please say to Mrs. Piercey, Robert, that I am tired, and have gone to my room.”
“Let me come too,” said Gerald Piercey, following her into the hall. “I shall go away to-morrow, of course—and you, what are you going to do?”
“I cannot go to-morrow. I shall have to wait—until I am turned out, or till I can go.”
“I wish you would come with me to my father’s, where you would be most welcome: and he is a nearer relative than I am.”