"Arnold, look me in the face. My dear boy, tell me, are you mad? Oh, think of my poor unhappy Claude, what he did, and what he must have suffered!"
"I know what he did. I do not know what he suffered. My case, however, is different from his. I am not engaged to any one."
"Arnold, think of the great scheme of life I have drawn out for you. My dear boy, would you throw that all away?"
She laid her hands upon his arm and looked in his eyes with a pitiful gaze. He took her hands in his.
"My dear, every man must shape his life for himself, or must live out the life shaped for him by his fate, not by his friends. What if I see a life more delightful to me than that of which you dream?"
"You talk of a delightful life, Arnold; I spoke of an honorable career."
"Mine will be a life of quiet work and love. Yours, Clara, would be of noisy and troublesome work without love."
"Without love, Arnold? You are infatuated."
She sunk into the chair and buried her face in her hands. First, it was her lover who had deserted her for the sake of a governess, the daughter of some London tradesman; and now her adopted son, almost the only creature she loved, for whom she had schemed and thought for nearly twenty years, was ready to give up everything for the sake of another governess, also connected with the lower forms of commercial interests.
"It is very hard, Arnold," she said. "No, don't try to persuade me. I am getting an old woman, and it is too late for me to learn that a gentleman can be happy unless he marries a lady. You might as well ask me to look for happiness with a grocer."