“Brothers are so unpleasant.”
“Oh, my dear, you must allow for young men. Be thankful if they have good hearts. A woman must learn to put up with little things. You will be married some day.”
“Not to anyone who is like Fred.”
“Don’t decry your own brother, my dear. Few young men have less against them, although he couldn’t take his degree—I’m sure I can’t understand why, for he seems to me most clever. And you know yourself he was thought equal to the best society at college. So particular as you are, my dear, I wonder you are not glad to have such a gentlemanly young man for a brother. You are always finding fault with Bob because he is not Fred.”
“Oh no, mamma, only because he is Bob.”
“Well, my dear, you will not find any Middlemarch young man who has not something against him.”
“But”—here Rosamond’s face broke into a smile which suddenly revealed two dimples. She herself thought unfavorably of these dimples and smiled little in general society. “But I shall not marry any Middlemarch young man.”
“So it seems, my love, for you have as good as refused the pick of them; and if there’s better to be had, I’m sure there’s no girl better deserves it.”
“Excuse me, mamma—I wish you would not say, ‘the pick of them.’ ”
“Why, what else are they?”
“I mean, mamma, it is rather a vulgar expression.”
“Very likely, my dear; I never was a good speaker. What should I say?”