"That would be too humiliating. I never give my servants a chance to triumph over me in that way."
The visitor departed, and the conversation was continued, as at the commencement of the story.
Mrs. Clark was a lady. It was not necessary to inquire who her ancestors were, to be sure of that; yet it was not her dress, or manner, or voice, or sentiments, either of them, alone, but harmony and appropriateness in everything she said or did, that left with you that impression. In her presence you never thought whether she was handsome or well-dressed, but, on leaving her, you would be more than ever in love with moral beauty.
In the evening, we girls—I call myself one of them, though so much older—were sitting round the fireplace in the pleasant room; it was just fit for dreaming or story-telling, at twilight, when Sarah referred to the conversation of the morning, wondering if Mrs. Hart had conquered her pride, or poor Anna had found a place.
"I have always pitied servants," said she; "it seems that they ought to know their place; yet, if they are unjustly accused, it is hard if they must lose a home when they defend themselves."
"For my part," said Isabel, "I like to see ladies know their places, as well as servants. What right has any one to charge another with falsehood, and expect them to be silent under the false charge, merely because they have agreed to give them the labor of their hands for a paltry sum counted out to them on Saturday night? Anna was educated to thoughts and habits of strict integrity, and I do not wonder at her proud retort."
Isabel had been indignant all day, but had controlled her lips till now; her eyes flashed as she spoke, and, when she was done, she went to the piano and played several spirited airs with even more spirit than was necessary; then, turning to us, said—
"Did mother ever tell you her history?"
"No," said Sarah.
"Nor you, Miss Bell?"