“Of no more utility than our acquaintance with Charles would be to _you_, were it not for _me_,” returned Perdita. “And now, mother, I may as well inform you at once that I can penetrate into all the motives which prompt you thus to oppose my marriage views with respect to Charles. You imagine that if I become his mistress only, I shall be so completely in your power that I must still continue your slave,--that a word from you relative to my past life would send away Charles Hatfield in disgust,--and that in order to prevent you from speaking that word, I shall obey you blindly. In fine, you hope to exercise a despotism alike over him and me,--dispose of the purse--and control the household with sovereign sway. On the other hand, you imagine,--nay, do not look so black, my dear mother--we are only telling each other a few agreeable truths----” “Go on, vile girl!” gasped Mrs. Fitzhardinge, trembling--suffocating with rage. “On the other hand, then,” pursued the young woman, in a placid, unexcited manner,--“on the other hand you suppose that if once I become the wife of Charles Hatfield--if once he shall have taken me for better or worse--if once the indissoluble knot be tied, your power over me would cease. For were you to avenge any slight by making revelations respecting me, I might lose my husband’s esteem and love, but should not the less remain his wife. You therefore dread lest you should become a cypher--dependant upon us for your daily bread--unable to control the purse and the domestic economy----” “And what will you do to guarantee that all you are now saying is not a predictive sketch of what you know must happen in case I permit your marriage?” demanded Mrs. Fitzhardinge, dismayed by this accurate reading of her heart’s secrets on the part of her daughter. “I can only assure you this much, mother,” was the answer,--“that if you conduct yourself well towards me, I shall act well towards you,--that you shall have your own way in every thing where my will is not violently thwarted,--and that I will co-operate with you cheerfully for our mutual interests, so long as you do not attempt to drive me as a slave.” “And all this you faithfully promise, Perdita?” demanded her mother, eagerly; for she was now glad to effect any compromise rather than come to an open rupture with her daughter, who, she saw, had in reality so much the better of her. “Be assured, mother,” replied Perdita, “that I am not for war;--and if we quarrel any more, it will be your fault.” “We will _not_ quarrel, Perdita,” said Mrs. Fitzhardinge: “you shall marry Charles Hatfield--or Viscount Marston, as we ought to call him;--and here let our dispute finish.” “With all my heart. And now tell me, mother, how--where--and with whom you intend to raise the money upon these papers which Charles is to send or bring in the evening?”