Then Jenny began to talk.
"I think, you know," she said quietly, "that you aren't going the right way to work. (It's very impertinent of me, isn't it?—but you did say just now you wanted to hear what I thought.)"
"Of course I do; of course I do. You're a sensible girl, my dear. I've always said that. But as for this young—"
"Well, let me say what I think. (Yes, put the soup down here, will you. Is that right, Lord Talgarth?)." She waited till the man was gone again and the old man had taken up his spoon. Then she took up her own. "Well, I think what you've done is exactly the thing to make Frank more obstinate than ever. You see, I know him very well. Now, if you'd only laughed at him and patted his head, so to speak, from the beginning, and told him you thought it an excellent thing for a boy of his character, who wants looking after—"
Lord Talgarth glared at her. He was still breathing rather heavily, and was making something of a noise over his soup.
"But how can I say that, when I think—"
"Oh! you can't say it now, of course; it's too late. No; that would never do. You must keep it up—only you mustn't be really angry. Why not try a little cold severity?"
She looked so charming and humorous that the old man began to melt a little. He glanced up at her once or twice under his heavy eyebrows.
"I wonder what you'll do," he said with a kind of gruffness, "when you find you've got to marry a pauper?"
"I shan't have to marry a pauper," said Jenny. "That wouldn't do either."