"You mean Mark Davenport, probably, who deserves more respectful
language."

"Brought up in coal-dust,--the spoiled and forward pet of a foolish
old stutterer, who depends for his bread on his dirty work, and who,
if he had only his own, would have to leave even the hovel he works
in." It was fearful to see how these contemptuous words were hissed
out by the infuriated woman.

Mildred was courageous, but she had not passed through the discipline
that had developed her step-mother's faculties. So she burst into
tears, saying, amidst her sobs, that Mark was allowed by all who knew
him to be a young man of promise; that, for herself, she didn't care
how much coal-dust he had been through,--_that_ would wash off; that,
at any rate, she loved him, and would never marry anybody else.

Mrs. Kinloch began to consider. Anger had whirled her away once; a
second explosion might create an irreparable breach between them.

"Don't lay up what I have said, Mildred," she urged, in a mild voice.
"If I object to your choice, it is because I am proud of you and want
you to look high. You can marry whom you choose; no rank or station
need be considered above you. Come, don't cry, dear!"

But Mildred refused to be soothed. She could not sympathize with the
tropical nature, that smiled like sunshine at one moment, and the next
burst into the fury of a tornado. She pushed off the beseeching hand,
turned from the offered endearments, and, with reddened, tear-stained
face, left the room.