"Every one knows your sarcasm," said Mrs. Pendarrel, "and I, at least, perfectly understand your meaning. Once for all, Mrs. Winston, I will suffer no interference with my intentions for Mildred. Why, I almost think you would not have her settled at all. Very sisterly indeed, Gertrude. Yet in your situation——"
"Mother," exclaimed Mrs. Winston, "not another word. But listen. Rather than see Mildred settled even as I am, without offence, as without affection, I know not to what I would not doom her! Rather than see her wedded to one like Melcomb, would she might die in my sight! You know me, mother. She is here."
"There's no danger, Gertrude," said Mrs. Pendarrel, as Mildred entered; "au revoir."
The sisters then descended the stairs. As they passed through the hall, they might have observed the presence of a young man, not in livery, plainly dressed, having an appearance of mauvaise honte not often imputable to the denizens of London. They might have noticed that after the first glimpse he caught of Mildred, his gaze was rivetted upon her face, and the colour deepened in his cheeks as she approached and swept by him, almost brushing him with the trimming of her mantle. But in fact, they saw nothing of the kind, passing along in polite indifference to Mrs. Winston's carriage.
"And so, Mildred," that lady said, as they drove away, "another admirer! You are growing quite a coquette."
"Not exactly," answered the younger sister. "But I like to amuse myself with the vanity of men. After all, I wish I were married."
Mrs. Winston sighed. "At another time, Mildred dear," she said, "I might rally you for the avowal. But beware. Marriage is a sad lottery."
"You are happy, Gertrude," said Mildred with some surprise.
Mrs. Winston looked out of her window.
"Melcomb will never make a woman happy," she said, after a pause.