“Thank God you bear it so well, my darling!” said Mrs. Davilow, when she had helped Gwendolen to doff her bridal white and put on her traveling dress. All the trembling had been done by the poor mother, and her agitation urged Gwendolen doubly to take the morning as if it were a triumph.
“Why, you might have said that, if I had been going to Mrs. Mompert’s, you dear, sad, incorrigible mamma!” said Gwendolen just putting her hands to her mother’s cheeks with laughing tenderness—then retreating a little and spreading out her arms as if to exhibit herself: “Here am I—Mrs. Grandcourt! what else would you have me, but what I am sure to be? You know you were ready to die with vexation when you thought that I would not be Mrs. Grandcourt.”
“Hush, hush, my child, for heaven’s sake!” said Mrs. Da
