“Exactly. I don’t like to think that she manages—but whether she does or not, the results are as bad as if she did; and thoughtlessness—if it is only that, which I can’t believe—is quite as blamable as—as more intentional scheming.”
“Then of course,” said Mrs. Ferguson, “every one knows about her mother’s fortune—and men are so mercenary in these days.”
“Oh, Josie, I don’t like to speak of that myself, but it is such a relief to have you say it. That is the whole trouble. What sort of a chance have my poor dears, who will inherit so little compared to her wealth, and that not till—till we are through with it—against Constance? I call it really shameful of her to keep on standing in their light!”
“Have you—Couldn’t you let her see—drop a hint—of the unconscious injury she is—”
“That is the cruelty of my position,” moaned Mrs. Durant. “I should not hesitate a moment, but the world is so ill-natured about stepmothers that one has to be over-careful, and with daughters of my own, I’m afraid people—perhaps my own husband—would think I was trying to sacrifice her to them.”
“But have you no friend you could ask to—?”
“Josie! Would you?” eagerly interrupted Mrs. Durant. “She will be influenced, I know, by anything you—”
“Gracious, my dear, I never dreamed of—of you asking me! Why, I don’t know her in the least. I couldn’t, really.”
“But for my sake? And you know her as well as—as any one else; for Constance has no intimates or—”
“Don’t you see that’s it? I’d as soon think of—of—From me she would only take it as an impertinence.”