I
It was Frances who was usually considered the snob of the family, for
Frances was imperious and inclined to be haughty, and had a sense of her
personal dignity. But, as a matter of fact, she was as little snobbish
as one so brought up could well be. She respected herself but she
respected others. She was devilishly proud, but she permitted pride in
others. She was capable of admiring worth wherever found and was quite
honest about it. She really did not stand upon her Defoeness. She had,
it must be admitted, a fair share of young conceit; she believed herself
to be handsome and intelligent and resolute, and these were her claims
upon the world’s regard. Whereas Minnie, far more humble as an
individual, demanded a slavish servility from the majority of mankind
simply because she was what she called a “gentlewoman.” It entailed no
obligations, required no effort. One was, or one wasn’t. Like being born
a sacred white bull. It was an involuntary sanctity which all
right-minded people of the lower orders could instantly recognise.
Her grandmother thought as she did. Between them they ordained that Mr.
Petersen did not exist, and they had tried in vain to convince Frankie
of it. She had been very, very trying!
The two sisters drove on in a rather constrained silence after the bone
of contention had gone. Minnie was absorbed in the management of the
capricious skeleton, but was still able to suggest a forgiveness that
irritated Frances. And Frances couldn’t quite stifle her remorse. She
remembered dreadful things she had said to Minnie that morning. Things
which had evidently made her weep.
All on account of Mr. Petersen; because he was so utterly unworthy of
being served by one of the Brahmin caste. How vain their prayers and
tears. She had suffered too much from that life without hope or
sympathy. She knew that they could not comprehend her pain, and she
could not endure attempting to explain. _She_ knew that Mr. Petersen had
saved her from despair.
She looked at Minnie’s obstinate, tear-stained face, and was filled with
a great regret and a sort of loneliness.
“Oh, Minnie!” she cried. “Do try to understand a little! Don’t you see
that I couldn’t bear a life like this?”
“There’s no use talking about it. Only, Frankie, don’t imagine it hasn’t
been hard for me,” she answered. “After all, I suppose I am a human
being.”
“I know it, darling, I’m awfully sorry for you!” Frances assured her
contritely.
Minnie had a not very admirable trait of always pressing an advantage.
“In a way,” she went on, “I feel it more. I was home so much more--with
_him_.”
Her eyes filled with tears; her thoughts flew back to that day, six
weeks ago....