"I do not like it, and I never shall. I have, however, yielded a reluctant consent. I cannot quarrel with my only child; but I shall never like it—never."
"Never is a long day."
"I am not of those who change. There is no fitness in it, none. My son is of a class far above her. They are both poor." A sharp reply to the reference to social distinctions was on Mary Swanwick's tongue. She resisted the temptation, and said quietly:
"Margaret will not always be without means; my uncle will give her, on his death, all he has; and as to class, Madame, the good Master to whom we prayed this morning, must—"
"It is not a matter for discussion," broke in the elder woman.
"No; I agree with thee. It is not, but—were it not as well that two Christian gentlewomen should accept the inevitable without reserve and not make their children unhappy?"
"Gentlewomen!"
Mary Swanwick reddened. "I said so. We, too, are not without the pride of race you value. A poor business, but,"—and she looked straight at the vicomtesse, unable to resist the temptation to retort—"we are not given to making much of it in speech."
Madame de Courval had at times entertained Margaret with some of the grim annals of her father's people. Now, feeling the thrust, and not liking it, or that she had lost her temper, she shifted her ground, and being at heart what her hostess described as a gentlewoman, said stiffly: "I beg pardon; I spoke without thought." At this moment Margaret entered, and seeing the signals of discomposure on both faces, said: "Oh, you two dear people whom I love and want to love more and more, you are talking of me and of René. Shall I give him up, Madame, and send him about his business."