“My aunt would think it so funny,” she said.
He suspected that her refusal was due only to a disinclination to let him see her aunt. Mildred had represented her as the widow of a professional man (that was her formula of distinction), and was uneasily conscious that the good woman could hardly be called distinguished. Philip imagined that she was in point of fact the widow of a small tradesman. He knew that Mildred was a snob. But he found no means by which he could indicate to her that he did not mind how common the aunt was.
Their worst quarrel took place one evening at dinner when she told him that a man had asked her to go to a play with him. Philip turned pale, and his face grew hard and stern.
“You’re not going?” he said.
“Why shouldn’t I? He’s a very nice gentlemanly fellow.”
“I’ll take you anywhere you like.”
“But that isn’t the same thing. I can’t always go about with you. Besides he’s asked me to fix my own day, and I’ll just go one evening when I’m not going out with you. It won’t make any difference to you.”
“If you had any sense of decency, if you had any gratitude, you wouldn’t dream of going.”
“I don’t know what you mean by gratitude. If you’re referring to the things you’ve given me you can have them back. I don’t want them.”
Her voice had the shrewish tone it sometimes got.