Clara sank back in her seat, aghast with surprise.
"Oh, mamma Rachael, you are getting to be awfully cruel."
"Cruel? No! In this I am acting kindly. It is you who are cruel in pressing a distasteful and impossible thing upon me."
"I don't understand it; I can't believe it. You are always so free, so generous, to those who need help. It is just because this poor girl is my friend. Oh! I only wish old Lady Carset would just die, and leave me everything! I would let the world see a specimen of independence—I would! Don't speak to me, don't attempt to touch my hand, Mr. Closs! You haven't a spark of human nature in you. I have a good mind to leave you all, and go on the stage myself."
Again Lady Hope broke into a storm of impatience so unlike her usual self-restraint, that Clara was really terrified.
"Hush, girl! Not another word of this. I will not endure it."
This severe reprimand took away Clara's breath for an instant; then she burst into a passion of sobs and tears, huddling herself up into a corner of the carriage, and utterly refused all consolation from Hepworth, who was generously disturbed by her grief.
Lady Hope did nothing, but sat in silence, lost in thought, or perhaps striving to subdue the tumult of feelings that had so suddenly broke forth from her usual firm control.
Thus they drove home in distrust and excitement. A few low murmurs from Hepworth, bursts of grief from Lady Clara, and dead silence on the part of Rachael Closs, attended the first disagreement that had ever set the stepmother and daughter in opposition.
When they reached home, Clara, her face all bathed in tears, and her bosom heaving with sobs, ran up to her room, without the usual kiss or "Good-night."