"ALONE, mamma! Must I go alone?" said Clara Ross in a low, discontented tone, as her mother told her the doctor's opinion that, after the long, weakening illness from which she was just recovering, a change of air was absolutely necessary, especially now, when the east winds, so trying to invalids in Edinburgh, were blowing.
"He recommends the Bridge of Allan," she said; "and your father and I have arranged that you shall go next week. Not alone," she replied, in answer to Clara's query; "Maria will go with you. It will certainly be a trial for your sisters to dispense with her aid at this gay season of the year, for she certainly dresses their hair beautifully; but, of course; they must make the sacrifice when your health demands it, although, I fear, I will have to endure their reproaches when they hear of the arrangement. It is unfortunate that I cannot go with you myself; but, of course, it is my duty to accompany Laura and Jane to the public balls, and then the two dances in our house come on, so I have no choice. Poor Clara! How grieved you will be at missing all the spring gaiety! What! Crying, child? Well, well, never mind; the doctor says you will soon be as strong as ever, and you'll enjoy the balls all the more next year."
Clara pushed aside fretfully the hand her mother laid on her brow. "It isn't that," she said. "I was tired of balls and visiting night after night long before this illness came on; but oh! I don't want to be sent away alone with only a servant. Couldn't Aunt Emmie chaperon the girls, and you come with me, mamma?"
But such a proposal by no means satisfied the worldly mother. "Now, Clara, you must be reasonable. You know the calls of duty must be attended to; a mother must look after the interests of her children. I am sorry to have to send you away at all, more especially as your father has peculiar ideas about it; so don't let him see how unhappy you are."
And so saying, Mrs. Ross moved away to superintend some household matter.
She was not an unkind or even careless mother. In her own way she loved and was proud of her children. But her one ambition for them was a comfortable settlement in life; the things seen and temporal filled her heart, and a life of worldliness was making her cold and selfish.
That night, when Clara had gone to bed, the subject of the visit to the Bridge of Allan was warmly discussed in the drawing-room, where Mr. and Mrs. Ross sat with their daughters.
Mr. Ross spoke angrily. "On one thing I have made up my mind—the girl shall not go alone. If her own mother cannot leave home, and her sisters are too selfish to do so, I shall give up a month's business and go myself. You girls will have to do with fewer fine dresses, that's all; for I will have to pay a gentleman handsomely to act for me. But I will not have my little Clara neglected for all the dresses in the world; so when you fix on the lodgings, take a room for me also."
A look of consternation passed between mother and daughters, and in one breath they exclaimed.
"But, papa—Mr. Ross—you forget we are to have two dances in the house next week, and you must not be absent—it is impossible. Think of your duty to your family, my dear," added Mrs. Ross.