“No; you’re so proud, my dear, that’s it. You see, Josiah lets me have so much for housekeeping, that I’ve always plenty to spare; and as to jewellery, why, I might wash in diamonds if I liked, but I don’t.”
“Let us be as usual, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, with more animation, “and never mind about what people say, or fashion, or dress, or any of the nonsense.”
“I’m sure I should like to be, my dear; but you being a motherless girl, I don’t like to hear people talking about you.”
Claire’s face grew flushed.
“Don’t look like that, Claire, my dear. I’m not cross with you, but when people talk about you being out walking with that horrid black Major Rockley, it hurts me.”
“I could not help it, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire.
“Then it’s all true, then, about young Mr Linnell horse-whipping him?”
“Yes, yes; but this is so cruel to me. He did beat him for insulting me.”
“Bless him then. I always liked him, my dear. How he must love you!”
“Oh, hush, hush!” cried Claire, in agony.