"I should like to know," she said aggressively, "what you are prepared to
do for her."
Sir Eustace smiled in his aloof, slightly supercilious fashion. He had
been more or less prepared for Dinah's mother, but the temptation to
address her as "My good woman" was almost more than he could withstand.
"Will you not allow me," he said, icily courteous, "to settle this
important matter with Mr. Bathurst to-morrow? He will then be in a
position to explain it to you."
Mrs. Bathurst made a movement of fierce impatience. She had been put in
her place by this stranger and furiously she resented it. But the man was
a baronet, and a marvellous catch for a son-in-law; and she did not dare
to put her resentment into words.
She got up therefore, and flounced angrily to the door. Sir Eustace arose
without haste and with a stretch of his long arm opened it for her.
She flung him a glance, half-hostile, half-awed, as she went through. She
had a malignant hatred for the upper class, despite the fact that her own
husband was a member thereof. And yet she held it in unwilling respect.
Sir Eustace's nonchalantly administered snub was far harder to bear than
any open rudeness from a man of her own standing would have been.
Fiercely indignant, she entered the kitchen, and caught Dinah peeping at
herself in the shining surface of the warming-pan after having removed
her hat.
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