Mrs. Morris bit her lip, and a small red spot on her cheek glowed like a flame.
“I have explained fully to Mr. Stocmar, Clara,” said she, in a cold, calm tone, “that from to-morrow forward your allegiance will be transferred from me to him; that with him will rest all authority and direction over you; that, however interested—naturally interested—I must continue to feel in your future, he, and he alone, must be its arbiter. I repeat this now, in his presence, that there may be no risk of a misconception.”
“Am I to write to you, mamma?” asked the girl, in a voice unmoved as her own.
“Yes, you will write; that is, I shall expect to hear from you in reply to my letters. This we will talk over together.”
“Am I to correspond with you, sir?” said she, addressing Stocmar in the same impassive way.
“Oh! by all means. I shall take it as the greatest of favors. I shall be charmed if you will honor me so far.”
“I ask, sir,” continued she, “because I may chance to have companions in the place to which I am going; and, even to satisfy their scruples, one ought to have some belongings.”
There was not the shadow of irritation in the manner in which these words were spoken; and yet Stocmar heard them with a strange thrill of pity, and Mrs. Morris grew pale as she listened to them.
“Clara,” said Mrs. Morris, gravely, “there are circumstances in our relations to each other which you will only learn when we have parted. I have committed them to writing for your own eye alone. They will explain the urgency of the step I am now taking, as much for your sake as for mine. When you have read and carefully pondered over that paper, you will be convinced that this separation is of necessity.”
Clara bowed her head in assent, but did not speak.