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The colour that sprang into Cora’s face at this rude comparison was such, unfortunately, as perhaps a little to justify it. Yet she retained some remnant of presence of mind. “I remember your saying once that that was just what he would be sure not to do: I mean when he began to go in for his dreadful ideas——” Mr. Prodmore took her boldly up. “About the ‘radical programme,’ the ‘social revolution,’ the spoliation of everyone, and the destruction of everything? Why, you stupid thing, I’ve worked round to a complete agreement with him. The taking from those who have by those who haven’t——” “Well?” said the girl, with some impatience. “What is it but to receive, from consenting hands, the principal treasure of the rich? If I’m rich, my daughter is my largest property, and I freely make her over. I shall, in other words, forgive my young friend his low opinions if he renounces them for you.”
Cora, at this, started as with a glimpse of delight. “He won’t renounce them! He shan’t!” Her father appeared still to enjoy the ingenious way he had put it. “If you suggest that you’re in political sympathy with him, you mean then that you’ll take him as he is?” “I won’t take him at all!” she protested with her head very high; but she had no sooner uttered the words than the sound of the approach of wheels caused her dignity to drop. “A fly?—it must be he!” She turned right and left for a retreat, but her father had already caught her by the wrist. “Surely,” she pitifully panted, “you don’t want me to bounce on him thus?” Mr. Prodmore, as he held her, estimated the effect. “Your frock won’t do—with what it cost me?” “It’s not my frock, papa,—it’s his thinking I’ve come here for him to see me!” He let her go and, as she moved away, had another look for the social value of the view of her stout back.
“The way to ‘hook’ him will be not to be hopelessly vulgar. He doesn’t know that you know anything.” The house-bell clinked, and he waved her away. “Await us there with tea, and mind you toe the mark!” Chivers, summoned by the bell, reappeared in the morning-room doorway, and Cora’s dismay brushed him as he sidled past. Then, from the threshold of her refuge, she launched a last appeal. “Don’t kill me, father: give me time!” With which she dashed into the room, closing the door with a bang.
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