New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Claire's voice quivered as she now proceeded, but she quickly controlled
this perturbed sign: "I do not think there is much chance of my begging
you on my knees to notice me," she said. "But I might be tempted to take
such a way of begging that you would try and help me to forget, as long
as I remain here, how I have had the ill-luck of being thrown near
anyone so unkind, so impudent, and so vulgar as yourself."
Ada Gerrard sprang to her feet as the last calm word sounded from
Claire's lips. She had clenched both of her plump hands, and there was a
wrathful scowl on her face. Several titters were heard from her
companions; they seemed to sting her; it was impossible for her to fail
in perceiving that she had met an adversary of twice her own prowess.
She knew to which side the sympathy had veered; all her imposing
superiority in the way of dress, of diet, of home-splendor, of titled
kindred, were momentarily as nothing beside Claire's placid antagonism.
She was only an ugly girl in an ugly rage, who had behaved insolently
and been rebuked with justice; while Claire, pale, unflinching, wholly
in the right and wholly aware of it, her drawbacks of uncouth costume
no longer present, her beauty a fact beyond dispute, her intelligence a
recent discovery and a sharp surprise, stood clad with the dignity of
easy and complete conquest.
Ada Gerrard suddenly burst into tears. They were very irate tears; there
was not the least tincture of remorse or shame in them. She flung
herself back into her chair, and covered her face for several minutes
while she wept.
Claire watched her, tranquilly, for a little while. Then she sat down
again and reopened her book. An intense silence reigned, broken by the
sobs of Ada Gerrard. Claire leaned her head on her hand, feigning abrupt
absorption in the page that she regarded, and feigning it very well. But
her mind was in a secret whirl, now. She was mutely, but impetuously
asking herself: "Will they think I was right? Will they take my part?
Will they treat me any more kindly, or just as before?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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