And I, whose place
was there with him, never knew!"
"You were only a child, Ernestine. It was twelve years ago."
"Child! I may have been only a child, but I should have been old
enough to know where my place was. Thank God I have done with these
people and their disgusting shibboleth of respectability."
"You are a little violent," he remarked.
"Pshaw!" She flashed a look of scorn upon him. "You don't
understand! How should you, you are of their kidney - you're only
half a man. Thank God that my mother was of the people! I'd have
died to have gone smirking through life with a brick for a heart
and milk and water in my veins! Of all the stupid pieces of
brutality I ever heard of, this is the most callous and the most
heartbreaking."
"It was a great mistake," he said, "but I believe they did it for
the best."
She sat down with a little gesture of despair.
"I really think you'd better go away, Cecil," she said. "You
exasperate me too horribly. I shall strike you or throw something
at you soon. Did it for the best! What a miserable whine! Poor
dear old dad, to think that they should have done this thing."
She buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed for the second
time since her childhood. Davenant was wise enough to attempt no
sort of consolation.
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