There ought to be intermarriage--all
sorts of things. I believe in democracy--"
"No, you don't," she snapped. "You don't know what the word
means."
He stared at her, and felt again that she had failed to be
Leonardesque. "No, you don't!"
Her face was inartistic--that of a peevish virago.
"It isn't fair, Cecil. I blame you--I blame you very much indeed.
You had no business to undo my work about the Miss Alans, and
make me look ridiculous. You call it scoring off Sir Harry, but
do you realize that it is all at my expense? I consider it most
disloyal of you."
She left him.
"Temper!" he thought, raising his eyebrows.
No, it was worse than temper--snobbishness. As long as Lucy
thought that his own smart friends were supplanting the Miss
Alans, she had not minded. He perceived that these new tenants
might be of value educationally. He would tolerate the father and
draw out the son, who was silent. In the interests of the Comic
Muse and of Truth, he would bring them to Windy Corner.
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