"Ever since poor Mortimer's death it has fretted him
terribly to think that the estates must pass out of the direct line.
Indeed, he hardly feels that the present heir belongs to the family at
all. The American branch has always seemed so remote. But now that the
young man is actually coming over to see his inheritance, it does seem
such a Heaven-sent chance for you. You know, dear, it's your sixth
season. You really ought to think seriously of getting settled. I am
sure it would be a great weight off my mind to see you suitably married.
And this young Cochrane is sure to take a reasonable view of the matter.
Americans are so admirably practical. And, of course, if your father
could leave all his money to the estates, as this marriage would enable
him to do, it would be a very excellent arrangement for all concerned."
The girl at the tea-table made a slight--a very slight--movement that
scarcely amounted to a gesture of impatience. The gentle drone of her
stepmother's voice was becoming monotonous. But she said nothing
whatever, and her expression did not change.
A faintly fretful note crept into Lady Raffold's tone when she spoke
again.
"You're so unreasonable, Priscilla. I really haven't a notion what you
actually want. You might have been a duchess by this time, as all the
world knows, if you had only been reasonable. How is it--why is it--that
you are so hard to please?"
Lady Priscilla raised her eyelids momentarily.
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