Mrs Abbot had soon seen that crushing tactics failed to meet the exigencies of the case. She put on an appearance of frankness. ‘You are candid with me, Miss Keene, and it appears to me you have plenty of common-sense. I put it to you; do you think that Mr Abbot or myself can lend our sanction to this ill-advised affair?’
The girl’s lip curled in a manner which was particularly galling to Mrs Abbot. A tradesman’s daughter, whose proper place was behind a counter, had no right to be able to assume such an expression! ‘That was for Frank, not for me, to consider, Mrs Abbot.’
‘But surely you will not marry him against our wishes?’
The girl was silent for a minute. An answer to such a question required consideration. ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘We are both too young. But if, in after-years, Frank Abbot wishes me to be his wife, I will share his lot, let it be high or low.’ She spoke proudly and decisively, as one who felt that her love was well worth having, and would make up for much that a man might be called on to resign in order to enjoy it.
It was this independence, the value the tradesman’s daughter set upon herself, that annoyed Mrs Abbot, and led her into the mistake of firing her last and, as she hoped, fatal shot. ‘You are not perhaps aware,’ she said, ‘that the estate is unentailed?’
Millicent, who did not at once catch the drift of her words, looked inquiringly.
‘I mean,’ explained Mrs Abbot, ‘that my husband may leave it to whom he likes—that if you marry my son, you will marry a beggar.’
The girl rose. With all her practice, Mrs Abbot herself could not have spoken or looked more scornfully. ‘How little you know me, madam, to insult me like that! Have you so poor an opinion of your son as to fancy I cannot love him for himself? Did you marry Mr Abbot for his wealth?’—Mrs Abbot winced mentally at the question.—‘Do you think I wish to marry Francis Abbot only for the position I shall gain? You are wrong—utterly wrong!’
‘Then,’ said Mrs Abbot with the bitterness of defeat, ‘I suppose you will persist in this foolish engagement, and the only chance I have is an appeal to my son?’
‘I have promised to be his wife. He alone shall release me from that promise. But it may be long before he can claim it, and so your anxiety may rest for some time, Mrs Abbot. I have this morning received a letter from my father. He wishes me to join him in Australia. Next month, I shall sail, and it will probably be three or four years before I return. Then, if Frank wishes me to be his wife—if he says to me: “I will risk loss of lands and love of parents for your sake,” I will bid him take me, and carve out a way in the world for himself.’