"That is nonsense, my dear. If he has told me the truth, what have you to depend on?"
"I don't want to depend on anything. I hate hearing about it."
"Clara, I wonder you can talk in that way. If you were only seventeen it would be very foolish; but at your age it is inexcusable. When I am gone, and your father is gone, who is to provide for you? Will your cousin do it—Mr. Belton, who is to have the property?"
"Yes, he would—if I would let him;—of course I would not let him. But, aunt, pray do not go on. I would sooner have to starve than talk about it at all."
There was another pause; but Clara again knew that the conversation was not over; and she knew also that it would be vain for her to endeavour to begin another subject. Nor could she think of anything else to say, so much was she agitated.
"What makes you suppose that Mr. Belton would be so liberal?" asked Mrs. Winterfield.
"I don't know. I can't say. He is the nearest relation I shall have; and of all the people I ever knew he is the best, and the most generous, and the least selfish. When he came to us papa was quite hostile to him—disliking his very name; but when the time came, papa could not bear to think of his going, because he had been so good."
"Clara!"
"Well, aunt."
"I hope you know my affection for you."