“Never,” said Clare, with a little emphasis. She said so because she had heard a great deal about Mr. Pimpernel’s pictures, and felt it her duty to disown all participation in any such plebeian taste; and then she recollected herself, and grew red, and added hurriedly—“The Ardens have always had to think of their country, Edgar. They have had more serious things to do.”
“But I am not much of an Arden, I fear, and I am very fond of pictures,” said Edgar carelessly, without perceiving the cloud that swept over his sister’s face.
“Then I assure you, though I say it that shouldn’t, I have some pretty things to show you at the Red House,” said Mr. Pimpernel. Thus it came to be understood that Edgar had accepted the invitation for Monday week, and the party rose,—first the mother, then Alice, obedient to every impulse, and finally Mr. Pimpernel, who extended his large hand, and took into his own Clare’s reluctant fingers. “I hope we shall soon see you with your brother,” he said, raising his other hand, as if he was pronouncing a blessing over her. “Indeed, I hope so,” said Mrs. Pimpernel, following him with outstretched hand. Alice put out hers too, but withdrew it shyly, and made a little curtsey, like a school girl, Clare thought; but to her brother there was something very delicate, and gentle, and pretty in the girl’s modest withdrawal. He went to the door with them to put Mrs. Pimpernel in her carriage, and came back to Clare without a suspicion of the storm which was about to burst upon his head.
CHAPTER X.
Clare was standing by the table with her hands clasped tightly, her mouth shut fast, her tall figure towering taller than usual, when Edgar, all unconscious, returned to her. She assailed him in a moment, without warning. “Edgar, how can you—how could you?” she said, with an impatient movement, which, had she been less fair, less delicate, less young, would have been a stamp of her foot. Her tone and look and gesture were so passionate that the young man stood aghast.
“What have I done?” he asked.
“What have you done? You know as well as I do. Oh, Edgar, you have given me such a blow! I thought when you came home, and we were together, that all would be well; but to see you the very first day—the very first opportunity—throw yourself into the arms of people like these—people that never should have entered this house——”
“Who are they? What are they? Have they done us any harm?” said the astonished Edgar. “If they are enemies you should have told me. How was I to know?”
“Enemies!” said Clare, with increasing indignation; “how could such people be our enemies? They are a great deal worse—they are the vulgar rich, whom I hate; they are trying to force themselves in among us because they are rich; they are trades-people, pretending to be our equals, venturing to ask you to dinner! Oh, Edgar, could not you see by my manner that they were not people to know?”
“I saw you were very rude to them, certainly,” he said. “But, Clare, that goes against me; even—may I say it?—it disappointed me. I do not understand how a lady can be rude.”