‘I think, and she thinks nothing but what is rational,’ said Theodora, coldly, ‘that it is a sad thing to see you taught to resort to subterfuges, and that they can lead into no safe course.’
‘You do not know Theresa, or you would not accuse her of what she would detest.’
‘I speak from what I see. She has arranged in secret that, without your mother’s knowledge, you should by stealth go to a place where you both know Lady Elizabeth would be shocked to hear of you.’
‘I thought you understood the true Catholic spirit,’ said Emma, ‘and were interested in these things.’
‘The Catholic spirit is anything but such treatment of a mother,’ said Theodora. ‘Once for all, do you mean to go to this place, or do you not? I see a cab, and if you go I return home in that.’
‘Of course then I must give it up.’
‘Now, and for ever, unless with your mother’s consent, I hope,’ said Theodora.
Emma did not answer, and they proceeded for some distance, Theodora wondering what could be her companion’s frame of mind, and what she ought to do next. So far, it was the sort of compulsion she had been wont to employ in the unscrupulous hours of childhood; but this was no gain—Emma’s reason ought to be convinced, and of this she had little hope. Miss Brandon was the first to break silence. That word subterfuge rankled, as it must in any honourable mind, and she began—‘I wish you would do Theresa justice. No one can have a greater contempt than she for anything underhand.’
Theodora tried not to laugh, and could not help pitying the fond affections that were blind to every fault in the beloved object.
‘Ah!’ said Emma, in answer to her silence, ‘you think this bears the appearance of it; but you may be certain that Theresa is absolutely sure to act conscientiously.’