"Certainly, my dear, certainly; and I should be glad if you could remain here altogether—that is, if you would not make yourself obnoxious to Caroline—that is, if you would not be quite so independent."
"I have done nothing to offend either of my cousins," said Mabel, her bosom heaving with emotion. "I have not deserved the treatment I have received, either at their hands, or yours, and you know I have not."
"If this is all the return your sainted pretensions can make," said her aunt, chafing herself into a passion, "for all my kindness to you—if you have not one word of thanks to offer me, you are but a poor companion for my daughters. I must make an example of you, and, therefore, I leave you to yourself. I care not what becomes of you. Go," she screamed, with shrill violence, as she herself advanced to the door, and, as if either satisfied or ashamed, burst from the room, as if it were contaminated.
Mabel covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears; indignation and a sense of desolation, struggled within her, and sob after sob burst from her, with a violence which, though natural to her temper, was usually suppressed entirely.
Suddenly she heard a step, and, before she could recover herself, Mr. Morley stood before her, coming as he did, in his customary shadowy manner.
"Why do you weep," he said, in a tone of severity.
"I have quarrelled with my aunt."
"Well?"
"And I wish to leave this house as soon as I can."