“Speak! Answer me! You love that man?” she repeated, clutching the wrist of the girl so tightly as to cause her to wince.
“Madam, I am grateful to Major Clifton—he is my benefactor—he cares for me, and I am grateful to him.”
“He is an arrogant man—he reminded you of your low birth.”
“I know he did, madam, and perhaps I ought to have vindicated our common human nature, and told him, as I tell you now, that there is no such thing in God’s universe as low birth, that every child comes into His world with equal claim upon His people; perhaps it was my duty to have told him this, only I am always a coward before Major Clifton, and never can say the right thing at the right time to him, as I can to others.”
“You love him! That is the reason! And you are a fool if you do not know it, or a hypocrite if, knowing it, you deny it. But he despises your love! He said to you, himself, that no gentleman would be likely to be a suitor for your hand!”
“I know he did, lady. His care for me makes him say rough, blunt things sometimes. I can bear them from him.”
“You love him! Deny it, if you dare! But you are an idiot! an idiot! if you do not take his hint to conquer that passion! He said it was not likely that any gentleman would ever become a suitor for your hand! he is a gentleman—therefore he can never stoop to you! You do not answer me! Do you, perchance, deceive yourself with the idea that he ever will?”
“Lady—no, I do not deceive myself with the idea that he will ever ‘stoop’ to marry me. The woman that Major Clifton shall marry, if he ever marries, will be quite worthy of him, and that will preclude the idea of his ‘stooping’ to her.”
“And that woman will not be you, presumptuous girl. Do you dare to hope it will? Speak! Answer me!”
“Lady!” said Catherine, in a tone of grave and dignified rebuke, “considering the recent bereavement of Major Clifton, the discussion into which you have drawn me is indelicate, to use no harsher term!”