"I—crab him!" Mrs. Wren's air was the perfection of injured innocence. "Nothing of the kind. It isn't his fault he's not a blue blood—and if my lord of Wrexham's form is anything to go by, he may be none the worse for that."
"Yes, of course, as far as you are concerned Wrexham's the fly in the ointment," said Milly with a sudden flutter of anger.
Mary would have given much to escape, but to have fled with thunder and forked lightning in the air would have been an act of cowardice, not to say treachery.
The truth was Mrs. Wren still had other views for Milly, but up till now Wrexham had disappointed her. Moreover, both these clear-headed and extremely practical ladies were inclined to think he would continue to do so. For one thing he was under the thumb of his family, who were as hostile as they could be; again Wrexham was a bit of a weakling who didn't quite know his own mind. Certainly he had a regard for Milly, but whether it would enable him to wear a martyr's crown was very doubtful. Milly, at any rate, had allowed a second Richmond to enter the field of her affections, in the shape of Mr. Charles Cheesewright, the sole inheritor of Cheesewright's Mixture, a young man of obscure antecedents but of considerable wealth. So far Mr. Cheesewright had received small encouragement from Mrs. Wren, and Milly herself had been very guarded in her attitude; yet it was as plain as could be that one of the more expensive of the public schools and one of the older universities had made a little gentleman of Mr. Cheesewright. "But," as Milly said, "the truth was Wrexham had simply queered the pitch for everybody."
