“No, Mrs Oldcastle,” I said. “You have lost all a mother’s rights by ceasing to behave like a mother, Miss Oldcastle will never more do anything in obedience to your commands, whatever she may do in compliance with your wishes.”
“Allow me to remark,” said Captain Everard, with attempted nonchalance, “that that is strange doctrine for your cloth.”
“So much the worse for my cloth, then,” I answered, “and the better for yours if it leads you to act more honourably.”
Still keeping himself entrenched in the affectation of a supercilious indifference, he smiled haughtily, and gave a look of dramatic appeal to Mrs Oldcastle.
“At least,” said that lady, “do not disgrace yourself, Ethelwyn, by leaving the house in this unaccountable manner at night and on foot. If you WILL leave the protection of your mother’s roof, wait at least till tomorrow.”
“I would rather spend the night in the open air than pass another under your roof, mother. You have been a strange mother to me—and Dorothy too!”
“At least do not put your character in question by going in this unmaidenly fashion. People will talk to your prejudice—and Mr Walton’s too.”
Ethelwyn smiled.—She was now as collected as I was, seeming to have cast off all her weakness. My heart was uplifted more than I can say.—She knew her mother too well to be caught by the change in her tone.
I had not hitherto interrupted her once when she took the answer upon herself, for she was not one to be checked when she chose to speak. But now she answered nothing, only looked at me, and I understood her, of course.
“They will hardly have time to do so, I trust, before it will be out of their power. It rests with Miss Oldcastle herself to say when that shall be.”