Laura wavered, then drew herself up.
"Because I'm not your sort either. I don't believe in your church, or your ministers. Father didn't, and I'm like him."
Her voice had grown thick, and she was quite pale. The old woman stared at her.
"Then yo're nobbut yan o' the heathen!" she said with slow precision.
"I dare say!" cried Laura, half laughing, half crying. "That's my affair.
But I declare I think I hate Catholics as much as you—there, Cousin
Elizabeth! I don't hate my stepmother, of course. I promised father to
take care of her. But that's another matter."
"Dost tha hate Alan Helbeck?" said Mrs. Mason suddenly, her black eyes opening in a flash.
The girl hesitated, caught her breath—then was seized with the strangest, most abject desire to propitiate this grim woman with the passionate look.
"Yes!" she said wildly. "No, no!—that's silly. I haven't had time to hate him. But I don't like him, anyway. I'm nearly sure I shall hate him!"
There was no mistaking the truth in her tone.
Mrs. Mason slowly rose. Her chest heaved with one long breath, then subsided; her brow tightened. She turned to her son.