“Is it really true,” she said at the end of a long silence, “that there was a question of a--marriage between Constance and Mr Ramsay?”
“It is really quite true,” said her mother with a smile. “And why not? Do you disapprove?”
“It is not that I disapprove--I have no right to disapprove; it is only that it seems so impossible.”
“Why? I see nothing impossible in it. He is of suitable age; he is handsome. You cannot deny that he is handsome, however much you may dislike him, my dear.”
“But I don’t dislike him at all; I like him very much--in a kind of way.”
“You have every appearance of doing so,” said Lady Markham with meaning. “You talk to him more, I think, than to any one else.”
“Oh, I don’t ask any reason, Frances. If you like his society that is reason enough--the best of reasons. And evidently he likes you. He would, no doubt, be more suitable to you than to Constance.”
“Mamma! I don’t know what you mean.” Frances woke up suddenly from her musing state, and looked at her mother with wide open startled eyes.
“I don’t mean anything. I only ask you to point out wherein his unsuitability lies. Young, handsome, _nice_, and very rich. What could a girl desire more? You think, perhaps, as you have been so simply brought up, that a heroine like Con should have had a Duke or an Earl at the least. But people think less of the importance of titles as they know Society better. Claude is of an excellent old family--better than many peers. She would have been a very fortunate young woman with such an establishment; but she has taken her own way. I hope you will never be so hot-headed as your sister, Frances. You look much more practical and reasonable. You will not, I think, dart off at a tangent without warning or thought.”
Frances looked her mother doubtfully in the face. Her feelings fluctuated strangely in respect to this central figure in the new world round her. To make acquaintance with your parents for the first time when you have reached the critical age, and are no longer able to accept everything with the matter-of-fact serenity of a child, is a curious experience. Children, indeed, are tremendous critics, at the tribunal of whose judgment we all stand unawares, and have our just place allotted to us, with an equity which happily leads to no practical conclusions, but which no tribunal on earth can equal for clear sight and remorseless decision. Eighteen is not quite so abstract as eight; yet the absence of familiarity, and that love which is instinctive, and happily quite above all decisions of the judgment, makes, in such an extraordinary case as that of Frances, the sudden call upon the critical faculties, the consciousness that accompanies their exercise, and the underlying sense, never absent, that all this is unnatural and wrong, into a complication full of distress and uncertainty. A vague question whether it were possible that such a conflict as that which had ended in Constance’s flight, should ever arise between Lady Markham and herself, passed through the mind of Frances. If it should do so, the expedient which had been open to Constance would be to herself impossible. All pride and delicacy of feeling, all sense of natural justice, would prevent her from adopting that course. The question would have to be worked out between her mother and herself, should it ever occur. Was it possible that it could ever occur? She looked at Lady Markham, who had returned to her usual morning occupation of writing letters, with a questioning gaze. There had been a pause, and Lady Markham had waited for a moment for a reply. Then she had taken up her pen again, and with a smiling nod had returned to her correspondence.