“Come into the conservatory,” Edward said. “Don’t you think you have had enough? Oh, it is your first ball. I suppose you like it; but I am beginning to lose my relish for those sort of affairs.”
“You are not so old that you should give up dancing, Cousin Edward.”
“Old! No, I hope I am not old yet, and I don’t intend to give up dancing; but I like to walk here better—with you. I like to talk better—with you. I like to see your face, Hester, and see how it changes from kindness to wrath, from friendship to indignation, from a patient sense that I am endurable, to a violent consciousness—Come and sit here.”
“You seem to think I never do anything but think of you: and that is the greatest mistake,” Hester said.
Upon which he laughed. The place he had led her to was only partially lighted. There were many other groups scattered about among the plants and stands of flowers. Flirtation was openly recognised in this youthful house as one of the portions of the evening’s entertainment, and large provision made for it. There was nobody to notice with whom it was that Edward was amusing himself, and he felt fully disposed to take advantage of his opportunities. He laughed at Hester’s indignant disclosures. “If you did not think a little about me, dear, you would not notice so distinctly my course of conduct in other places, you could not be sure that it was much more agreeable to me, instead of standing by your side and trying to be as amusing as Harry, to lead down Mrs. Houseman and old Lady Kearney to supper or to tea.”
“My mother should go out of the room before either of them,” cried Hester. “Do you know who she is? Sir John Westwood is her cousin: a duke’s daughter once married into her family—”
“I quite understand you and agree with you, Hester. It is nothing that she is a perfect little gentlewoman, and has far better manners than any of us; but because she is a cousin to a heavy baronet, who is not good enough to tie her shoe—”
“Edward!” The girl was so startled she could not believe her ears.
“Oh, I know very well what I am saying. You don’t know me, that is all. You think I am a natural snob, when I am only a snob by circumstances. You yourself, Hester, do you really think your mother should stand upon her cousin and upon Lady Ethelinda (or whatever was her name), her great-grandmother, and not upon herself far better than either? I can’t imagine you think that.”
Hester was surprised and silenced for the moment. She had been so often reminded of the noble grandmother and the baronet cousin, and so hard put to it to find a ground of superiority on which her pride could take refuge, that this sudden appeal to her better judgment bewildered her. She was startled to find those advantages which were indisputable, and to which everybody deferred in theory, so boldly undervalued; but yet the manner of doing it made her heart beat with pleasure. Yes; people thought her dear little mother silly, and Hester was aware that she was not clever. Sometimes, in the depths of her own soul, she had chafed, as children will, at the poor lady’s dullness and slowness of comprehension; but she was a perfect little gentlewoman. And he saw it! He felt in his heart that she was above them all—not because of Lady Ethelinda (she was Lady Sarah in reality) and Sir John, but herself.
“I did not know you were a Radical,” she said. She knew nothing about Radicals, though instinctively in her heart she agreed with them. “I thought you cared for family and that sort of thing.”
“Do you?”
Hester paused. She flung higher her young head, which was proud with life and a sense of power unknown. “I should like to be a king’s daughter,” she said, “or a great soldier’s or a great statesman’s. I should like my name to mean something. I should like people to say, when they hear it, that is—”
“But you don’t care much about Sir John?—that is what I thought. I am no Radical; I am all for decorum and established order and church and state. How could you doubt that? But, by the way, there is a person whom neither of us like, who certainly has the kind of rank you prize. Don’t you know who I mean, Hester? When a stranger comes to Redborough, there is one name he is sure to hear. If she were a duchess she could not be better known. To be her relation carries a certain weight. We were always a leading family in the place, I suppose. But why are we, for instance, so much better than the Merridews and all the rest of the respectable people? She has something to do with it, I can’t deny, though I don’t like her any more than you.”
“Edward,” cried Hester breathlessly, “about that we ought to understand each other. I have no reason to like Catherine. Yes, I will say her name; why shouldn’t I? She has not liked me. I was only a child, and if I was saucy she might have forgiven me, all these years. But she has taken the trouble on the contrary to humiliate me, to make me feel that I am nobody, which was unworthy. But you: she has been kind
