"I did not know Mrs. Oliphant was an American," said Isabel. "Mr. Oliphant comes from Inverness."
"Inverness men are too far north to be fools; and Tom Oliphant soon found out that his wife's judgment and good sense more than doubled his working capital. People say, 'Tom Oliphant has been lucky,' and so he has, because he had intelligence enough to take his wife's advice. But this is not a profitable or improving conversation, so near the Sabbath. I will go to my room for an hour or two, girls. I have much to think about."
She left them with an air of despondency, but her daughters knew she was not really unhappy. Some opposition to her supremacy she foresaw, but the impending struggle interested her. She was not afraid of it nor yet doubtful of its result.
"I know my own son, I hope," she whispered to herself, "and as for Theodora—that for Theodora!" And she snapped her fingers scornfully and defiantly.
Isabel and Christina followed their mother, taking the long, broad stairway with much slower steps. Their dull faces, listless tread, and monotonous speech were in remarkable contrast to the passionate eagerness of the elder woman, whose whole body radiated scorn and anger. As they began the ascent, the clock struck three, and Isabel looked at Christina, who answered her with a slight movement of the head.
"He is just leaving the Caledonian Station," she said.
"For Theodora," replied Christina bitterly.
"How I hate that name already!"
"And the girl also, Isabel?"
"Yes, the girl also. What has she to do in our family? The Campbells can live without her—fine!"