“Nor will I give it to you. I have come back here to help you—”
“Why, of course, you were sent for for that purpose.”
Marcia felt a very fierce wave of passion rising for a moment in her heart. After all, she had her passions, her strong feelings, her idiosyncrasies. She was not tame; she was not submissive; hers was a firm, steadfast, reliable nature. Hers also was a proud and rebellious one. Nevertheless, she soon conquered the rising irritation. She knew that this bad hour would have to be lived through.
“I am glad you are talking to me quite plainly,” she said, “and I on my part will answer you in the same spirit. I have come back here not because I must, for as a matter of fact, I am my own mistress. You see, by my own dear mother’s will I have sufficient money of my own—not a great deal, but enough to support me. I can, therefore, be quite independent; and the fact that by my mother’s will I was made of age at twenty, puts all possibility of misconstruction of my meaning out of the question.”
“Marcia, you are so terribly learned; you use such long words; you talk as though you were forty. Now, my poor children—”
“Mother, you are quite a clever woman yourself, and of course you know what I mean. I have come back to help you, because I wished to—not because I was forced to do so.”
“Molly says you are terribly conceited; I am afraid she is right.”
Marcia took no notice of this.
“Although I have come back to help you, I have not come back to ruin my young sisters.”
“Now, Marcia, you really are talking the wildest nonsense.”