But Mary, having burned her boats, was afflicted now by Cousin Blanche and Cousin Marjorie. They were looking down upon her from their tall horses. It was not that she feared them in the least, but she knew that lurking somewhere in an oddly constituted mind was a certain awe of the things for which they stood.
"I can't explain my feelings," said Mary. "I only know they are horribly real. I feel there's a gulf between Jack and me—and a word won't bridge it." And her voice trailed off miserably.
"That's weak," said Milly severely. "I know what you mean, but you exaggerate the difference absurdly. Sonny is miles above me socially, but I'll make him as good a wife as any of his own push, see if I don't—if he gives me the chance! And in some ways I can make him a better."
"How?"
"Because I began right down there." Milly pointed to the carpet. "I know the value of things, I shall be able to see that no one takes advantage of him, whereas a girl who has been spoon-fed all her life couldn't do that."
The honest Mary had to allow that there was something to be said for the point of view, yet she would not admit that it covered all the facts of the case.
"Please don't suppose my ideas have anything to do with you and Lord Wrexham." Her gravity made Milly feel quite annoyed. "I am merely thinking of myself. And there's something in me, for which I can't account, which says that it may be wrong, it may be wickedly wrong, for me to marry Jack."
"It certainly will be if that's how you look at it," said
