He paused and looked at her, with a stare of triumph in his features; his expression seemed to say, “What think you of that glorious Paradise I have led you to look at?”
“It is very encouraging indeed, sir,” said Clara, dryly, but with no semblance of irony,—“very encouraging. There is, then, really no reason that one day I might not be a rope-dancer.”
“Clara,” cried Mrs. Morris, severely, “you must curb this habit, if you will not do better by abandoning it altogether. The spirit of repartee is the spirit of impertinence.”
“I had really hoped, mamma,” said she, with an air of simplicity, “that, as all Mr. Stocmar's illustrations were taken from the stage, I had caught the spirit of his examples in giving one from the circus.”
“I'll be sworn you're fond of riding,” cried Stocmar, eager to relieve a very awkward crisis even by a stupid remark.
“Yes, sir; and I am very clever in training. I know the whole 'Bauchet' system, and can teach a horse his 'flexions,' and the rest of it.—Well, but, mamma,” broke she in, apologetically, “surely my guardian ought to be aware of my perfections; and if you won't inform him, I must.”
“You perceive, sir,” said Mrs. Morris, “that when I spoke of her flippancy, I was not exaggerating.”
“You may rely upon it, Mr. Stocmar,” continued Clara, “mamma's description of me was only justice.”
Stocmar laughed, and hoped that the others would have joined him; but in this he was unhappily disappointed: they were even graver than before; Mrs. Morris showing, in her heightened color, a degree of irritation, while Clara's pale face betrayed no sign of emotion.
“You are to leave this to-morrow, Clara,” said Mrs. Morris, coldly.