But she fronted him bravely.
"You are, as it happens, entirely wrong, Arthur. It's not I who have done
it--but Miss Glenwilliam's own good sense--or her father's. Of course I
confess frankly that I should have done my best--that I did, if you like,
do my best, to prevent your marriage with Miss Glenwilliam. And as for
right, who else had a right, if not I? Was it not most unkind, most
undutiful on your part!"--her tone was a tone of battle--"was it not an
outrage on your father's memory--that you should even entertain the
notion of such a connection? To bring the daughter of that man into this
family!--after all we have done--and suffered--for our principles--it's
you, who ought to ask _my_ pardon, Arthur, and not I yours! Times
without number, you have agreed with me in despising people who have
behaved as if politics were a mere game--a trifle that didn't matter. You
have told me often, that things were getting too hot; you couldn't be
friends in private, with people you hated in public; people you looked
upon as robbers and cheats. And then--_then_--you go and let this
infatuation run away with you--you forget all your principles--you forget
your mother, and all you owe her--and you go and ask this girl to marry
you--whose father is our personal and political enemy--a political
adventurer who is trying to pull down and destroy everything that you and I
hold sacred--or ought to hold sacred!"
"For goodness' sake, mother, don't make a political speech!" He turned upon
her with angry contempt.
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