"I did," said Lady Honoria, "and a pretty penny it has cost, I can tell
you. But I can't have the child come down so poorly clothed, it does not
look well."
"Then she can stay upstairs," said Geoffrey frowning.
"What do you mean?" asked his wife.
"I mean that I will not have her decked out in those fine clothes. They
are quite unsuitable to her age. There is plenty of time for her to take
to vanity."
"I really don't understand you, Geoffrey. Why should not the child be
handsomely dressed?"
"Why not! Great heaven, Honoria, do you suppose that I want to see Effie
grow up like you, to lead a life of empty pleasure-seeking idleness, and
make a god of luxury. I had rather see her"--he was going to add, "dead
first," but checked himself and said--"have to work for her living.
Dress yourself up as much as you like, but leave the child alone."
Lady Honoria was furious, but she was also a little frightened. She
had never heard her husband speak quite like this before, and there was
something underneath his words that she did not quite understand. Still
less did she understand when on the Monday Geoffrey suddenly told her
that he had fifty pounds for her to spend as she liked; then accompanied
her to a mantle shop, and stood patiently by, smiling coldly while she
invested it in lace and embroideries.
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