"He's always nice to me," she
said, mildly.
"I think," her ladyship resumed, "I think I like to think of him best in
prison;" and then washed him out of her memory as she faced more serious
topics.
"It will be much better for you to come to me," she told Sanchia. "I'm an
old woman, and an old tyrant, I daresay, but I'm somebody, you know. And
I'm pretty lonely, and happen to want company just now. It will be good
that you have a foothold to your name when your Nevile Ingram comes after
you. I shall bring him to reason quicker than most people, I don't doubt.
Your quarrel is absurd; you can't afford to quarrel with your bread and
cheese. You've your father, you'll say; but my answer is that it's not
very decent to live upon your father when you've got yourself kicked out
of his house. I quite see your point of view, mind you. These things will
happen, and in theory you're perfectly in the right. It's your practice
that won't do. All for love and the world well lost--very fine indeed. But
so long as we're in the world, you see, we _can't_ lose it. There it is.
Now you've had your kisses, and can afford to settle down; but you must do
it in the world's way if you want peace and quietness; and I'm very ready
to help you.
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