“Your brother farms himself, does he not?”
“Yes, he has a large farm; and then there is the brewery, a few miles off, and he wants Malcolmson for that. Mamma is disgusted, because she wanted Richard to take a protégé of her own—such an interesting young fellow, and so poor, with a widowed mother and two or three young sisters; and my lord won’t look at him.”
“Perhaps he has his reasons for declining him.”
“No, it is just his obstinacy; he will not allow mamma to interfere in his business. He thinks she ought to keep to her own department, and leave him to manage his own concerns; but mamma can’t see it; she has been used to rule, and she is always offended when he refuses to take her advice.”
“What a pity!” observed Bessie. “I think people in one house ought to be of one mind.”
“My dear Daisy, your golden rule won’t hold at The Grange. No one thinks alike in this house; mamma and I dote on each other, but we do not always agree; she makes me cry my eyes out sometimes. And as for Neville, as I told you, we have not an idea in common. I think perfect agreement must be rather monotonous and deadening. I am sure if Neville were to say to me, ‘My dear Edna, you are always right, and I agree with you in everything,’ I should be ready to box his ears. It is much more amusing to quarrel half a dozen times a day, and make it up again. Oh, I do dearly love to provoke Neville; he looks so deliciously bored and grave.”
Bessie was at a loss how to answer this extraordinary statement, but Edna gave her no time to collect her ideas.
“Quarrelling with Richard is poor fun,” she went on; “he hasn’t the wit to retaliate, but just sits glum as you saw him to-night. I mean to tell Master Richard, though, that his manners were worse than usual, for he actually did not open his lips to his guest, although she was a stranger.”
“Indeed you are wrong,” returned Bessie eagerly. “You are doing your brother an injustice; he spoke to me several times, and made remarks about the weather and my journey. I was just describing Cliffe to him when your mother gave us the signal to rise.”
“What a brilliant conversation!” observed Edna sarcastically. “Well, I will prove to you that Richard is in his sulks, for he won’t enter the drawing-room again to-night; and if he did,” she added, laughing, “mamma would not speak to him, so it is just as well for him to absent himself. Now let us go in, and I will sing to you. When people are not here mamma always reads, and I sing to her.”