Now Agnes went a step too far, and at the wrong moment. It was just then dawning upon the mind of Mrs. Dainty that her daughter had exaggerated the conduct of Miss Harper, and led her into an unladylike exhibition of herself. The sting of mortification excited her quite enough to make her turn with sharp acrimony upon this wilful daughter.
“I don’t believe a word of it!” she said, angrily. “All this trouble has grown out of your bad conduct. Go off and say your lessons at the right time. I won’t be annoyed in this way any longer.”
“But, mother——”
Mrs. Dainty took her by the arm and thrust her from the room, saying, passionately,—
“Don’t let me see your face again to-day!”
For several minutes Agnes sat upon the stairs leading up to the study-room, so disappointed and mortified that only anger kept her from tears. Down from this room came the low murmur of voices; and her ears recognised now that of Madeline or George, and now that of Miss Harper. How musical was the latter, compared with the sound of her mother’s rebuking tones that were still in her ears! In spite of pride and self-will, her heart acknowledged the contrast; and, with this acknowledgment, touches of shame were felt. Even with mean false accusation on her side, self-will had failed to triumph. Success would have blinded her to the quality of her own spirit; but failure made her vision clearer.
All remained still in the mother’s chamber and still through the house, as the mortified girl sat almost crouching on the stairs, and quiet was only disturbed faintly by the muffled voices that were heard in the study-room.
Agnes could not help but think, for passion was subsiding; and thought dwelt naturally upon the persons and circumstances by which passion had been aroused into turbulence. A contrast between the mother’s spirit and the spirit thus far shown by Miss Harper forced itself upon her mind, and she saw the beauty of the one and the deformity of the other. In spite of her pride, a feeling of respect for Miss Harper was born; and with this respect something of contempt for her weak, passionate mother found an existence.
“Now tell us the story, won’t you, Miss Harper?”
It was the voice of George, ringing down from the study-room. The lessons were over; and the promised story was to come.