Ida fell an almost irresistible desire to laugh; she had been tired when she came in, Mr. George Powler's attentions had made her still more weary, and the sight of the two women seated bolt upright and evidently boiling over with anger, was full of a grotesque humour which affected her hysterically. She managed to stifle the laugh, and looked at them patiently and calmly as she stood by the mantel-piece with one arm resting on the shelf. The unconscious ease and grace of her attitude increased Mrs. Heron's irritation; her thin lips trembled and her eyes grew red.
"Oh, I am not blind," she said. "I've been quite aware of your conduct for some time past; but I have refrained from speaking to you because, as I say, you are under my roof and I did not wish to hurt your feelings—though I am sure you have had very little regard for ours. I have been greatly deceived in you, Ida. I thought when you came that you were a quiet, well-conducted young woman, and I could scarcely believe my eyes when I first saw that I was mistaken, and that your quietness was only slyness. I suppose you didn't think I saw that you were trying to entrap my poor boy; but a mother's eyes are sharp, and a mother will protect her own at any cost. Oh, you needn't try to stare me out of countenance, or to put on that surprised and innocent look. You may have been able to deceive me once, but you can't now. I've been watching you, and I've seen with my own eyes your carryings on."
"Mrs. Heron—" began Ida, very quietly; but Mrs. Heron tore on with breathless vehemence.
"I suppose you only did it for your amusement; I don't suppose you thought there would be any good in it, that his father or I would allow Joseph to make such a fool of himself as to throw himself away upon a girl without any means; but it's all the more shameful. You succeeded very well; you've turned the poor boy's head and made him miserable. It's to be hoped that it will stop there, and that he won't be driven to drink or desperate courses, as some young men are. Of course you'll say that you never meant anything of the kind. I'm quite prepared for that—you can be plausible enough when you like; with that quiet, cat-like manner of yours."
Ida had passed beyond the laughing stage by this time; her face was pale, her eyes flashing; but she was able to say, with an appearance of calm:
"You are quite right, Mrs. Heron; I have no hesitation in saying that I did not wish your son to pay me any attention, much less—Oh, do you not see how ridiculous it is?" she broke out, indignantly, and with a little desperate laugh. Mrs. Heron's face flamed. "I don't know what you mean by ridiculous," she snapped. "I should say Joseph was quite good enough a match for you; and I've no doubt you think so, though you pretend to sneer at him."
"Let me assure you, Mrs. Heron, that I have never thought of your son as a possible husband," said Ida. "His attentions to me are more than unwelcome—and he knows it."
"Oh! then you admit that the poor boy is in love with you, that he has told you? You see, you can't deceive me; I knew it. I wonder you aren't ashamed of yourself; at any rate, having caused trouble in the house that shelters you, that you haven't shame enough to refrain from flirting, before our very eyes, with the first man that appears."
Ida stared at her in amazement, too great for the moment to permit of resentment.
"What is this you accuse me of?" she asked. "Oh, pray, pray, do not be so unreasonable, so unjust!"