"I should be much obliged by your thinking to more purpose, Bell. I never wish to interfere with your engagements, when they tend to a proper end."
"But what end could be answered at Ballahuish, mamma?"
"You are growing extremely disagreeable and argumentative, Miss Wetheral. I will trouble you to withhold your rather imperious questionings, if you please."
Christobelle was silent, and Lady Wetheral proceeded with her breakfast; but nothing met her approbation. The coffee was cold, the eggs were not fresh, and the rolls were burnt. Every thing was most uncomfortable since she had quitted England—particularly uncomfortable, since no one was near her to make her wants a matter of the least consideration.
Christobelle offered to ring for hot coffee.
"I shall be obliged by your remaining where you are, if you please. Ingratitude is nothing new to me: Clara taught me that parental misery—I can bear it now with patience. Clara has ruined my health by her ungrateful conduct. I, who sought her advancement in life, and who almost made the offer to establish her at Ripley, deserved a better fate than to be spurned from her dying bed, and see Mrs. Pynsent preferred before me. I cannot understand a coarse personage like Mrs. Pynsent being a proper attendant upon a deathbed. Her loud voice would disturb the dead."
"But she was so gentle and kind to Clara! She was so attentive, papa said!"
"I shall never believe it."
"But you remember how very kindly she assisted me, and how tenderly she nursed you, mamma."
"I was not on my deathbed. Close that window, Bell, the wind is rising; and do shut out the sound of those French horns."