This was Lilian. Mamma followed:
“But I mind. In spite of every obstacle I have treated you exactly as I have done your sisters. But the problem becomes more serious every day. How do you suppose that I am ever going to get you properly settled in life if you persist in making of yourself a scarecrow?—an absolute figure of fun?—I am compelled to use such language.”
“Oh, you needn’t trouble about a trifle of that sort. She’s settled all that for herself. She has her eye on Crooked Ben;—which is only as it should be, because, then, they’ll be a pair of figures of fun.”
This, again, was Lilian. The things she allows herself to say when she is in the mood, if they heard them, would startle some of the people who call her stately. She may consider herself ultra-refined, and I do not deny that she looks it, but I am persuaded that at heart she is almost as vulgar as I am. When she said that, it made me mad. I flew at her like a wild-cat. I was just in the mood for it.
“You talk, with a sneer, of Crooked Ben! You may have had bushels of proposals”—she has had heaps and heaps,—“but there wasn’t one among the lot worthy to black his boots. As for Mr Rumford, that bald-headed, bloated object, with quack written large all over him, you may like to have him muddling about you, but I wouldn’t touch him with a pair of tongs.”
Lilian went white. The truth is, she was nearly twenty-nine, and I suppose thought it about time to have someone for a husband, and as Mr Rumford was showing a strong inclination to apply for the position, I rather fancy she was considering whether he would not do. He had made piles of money out of a patent medicine called “Aunt Jane’s Jalap,” and was really not such a bad sort in his way: though just then I was anything but disposed to let her know I thought so. Eveleen took up the cudgels for Lilian;—they always stand up for each other against me.
“What a delicate way you have of putting a thing, Norah. You and your language are so in keeping. If you could only induce someone to transfer you from the family of which you so entirely disapprove how much happier you would be—and we also. Couldn’t you put the screw on Mr Morgan? He seems to be the only chance you are ever likely to have. Do make the most of him. Let mamma ask him what he means.”
“Look here, Eveleen! You think yourself vastly superior to me——”
“Not at all. Not while your complexion is quite so brilliant—I couldn’t.”
“Oh yes, you do. But you’re wrong for all that. You’ve spent your whole life in chasing men——”