She drew herself to her full height, as though the very attitude gave the greatest strength; there was no bend, no yielding in her. Stern, erect, proud, she looked full in her son's face; it was as though they were measuring their strength one against the other.
"I have never said to you, Lance, what I thought of this wretched mistake you call your marriage," she began; "my contempt and indignation were too great that you should dare to give the grand old name you bear to a dairy-maid."
Leone's beautiful Spanish face flashed before him, and he laughed at the word dairy-maid; she was peerless as a queen.
"Dare is not the word to use to a man, mother," he retorted.
"Nor should I use it to a man," said my lady, with a satirical smile. "I am not speaking to a man, but to a hot-headed boy; a man has self-control, self-denial, self-restraint, you have none; a man weighs the honor of his name or his race in his hands; a man hesitates before he degrades a name that kings have delighted to honor, before he ruins hopelessly the prestige of a grand old race for the sake of a dairy-maid. You, a hot-headed, foolish boy, have done all this; therefore, I repeat that I am not speaking to a man."
"You use strong language, mother," he said.
"I feel strongly; my contempt is strong," she said. "I know not why so great a humiliation should have fallen on me as that my son—the son of whom I was proud—should be the first to bring shame on his name."
"I have brought no shame on it, mother," he said, angrily.
"No shame!" said the countess, bitterly. "I can read, fancy, the short annals of the Lanswells—'Hubert, Earl Lanswell, died while fighting loyally for his king and his country; Ross, Earl Lanswell, was famed for political services; Lancelot, Earl Lanswell, married a dairy-maid.' I would rather," she cried, with flashing eyes, "that you had died in your childhood, than lived to bring such bitter shame on a loyal race."
His face grew pale with anger, as the bitter words were hurled at him.