"
After this harangue, Mrs. Verne threw herself into the elegant
fauteuil of carved ebony and oriental tapestry, and poured forth
another volume of tears more prolific than the first.
"Mamma, dear, what is the use of all this. The affair is bad enough,
but it might be a great deal worse. Papa is still alive and we
can live just as happily on a small income as indulging in such
luxury. Really, my dear mamma, I feel that we are going to be much
happier. I need not, as you remarked, have to submit to any great
drudgery, I can teach music and painting, thanks to those kind
instructors who took such pains in my education, and if I fail to
make that kind of work remunerative, why I can easily fit myself for
a school-teacher."
"Marguerite Verne!" cried the horrified mother, raising her hands in
gestures of dismay, "You will drive me mad! A daughter of mine a
school-teacher! Oh! dear, did I ever think I would raise a child to
inherit such plebeian ideas. Bad as Evelyn is with all her faults
she would not hurt my feelings in such a manner."
Marguerite looked at her mother with a feeling of compassion, yet
there were rebellious thoughts in her mind.
"Is it possible that mamma forgets poor dear papa, who is most to be
pitied?" murmured she, as she strove to hide the tears that would
flow in spite of all her efforts.
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