"What am I to go to Ripley for?--to see my daughter ill-treated, or be treated myself with indifference? Clara had no business to make herself conspicuous by quarrelling. I wish, Bell, when you do vouchsafe to talk, that you would choose better subjects to converse upon. Your poor father's education has only fitted you to be a nuisance. I hate girls with books in their hands, and dulness on their tongues." Christobelle changed the conversation. "Mamma, your worsted work looks beautiful upon that ottoman; I could almost fancy that rose had perfume, it is so natural." "Just the opinion of a girl who follows a man's occupation, instead of her own feminine amusements: had you any knowledge of work, you would have thought otherwise." Her mother gave a glance of disdain at the ottoman. "I assure you, mamma, I understand all the stitches. Miss Boscawen taught me." "One old maid teaching another, Bell." "I don't think I shall dislike being single, mamma. Miss Boscawen looks so beautifully dressed, so clean, not at all like your descriptions of old maids." "If you had any anxiety to be established like your sisters, Bell, you might please and amuse me in my seclusion. No one comes near me now, not even Miss Wycherly, who was always at Wetheral with Julia. I don't understand it. You might bring about an intimacy with Frank Kerrison, Bell, and ask him here to read with you. He will inherit Ripley, you know." "Mamma, I don't like Frank Kerrison, he swears so." "Nonsense, you matter-of-fact thing: if he swears now, it does not follow he will always swear." "But papa says, it is seldom left off. I don't like Frank, he is so violent with his sisters." "But you would be his wife, not his sister, child. What stupid notions you have!" The hall-bell rang violently. Lady Wetheral's eyes brightened.-- "Some one has arrived at last to amuse me. I hope it is Penelope come to ask us to her marriage. She ought to do so, for Julia's sake." The door opened, and Clara entered, to their great astonishment. She seated herself with perfect coolness. "There," said she, "now let the brute seek me in my father's house!" "My dear Clara, what brings you to Wetheral?--is Sir Foster with you?--will you dine here?" asked Lady Wetheral, in delighted accents. "I cannot tell you how a little society charms me in this dull place. You have made up that foolish fracas, my love, and you are both come to dine with me: is that it?" "I am certainly come to dinner, and to sleep too," replied Clara, taking up the work which Christobelle had dropped in surprise. "Where is your thimble, Bell? I will finish this sprig for you." "But, Sir Foster, my love--where is Sir Foster?" "I really cannot say: perhaps, kicking the nurse-maids, as I am not at Ripley to stand in their place." "Are you alone, then, Clara?" "I hope so. I mean to be alone for some time." "My dear Clara, you surely have not been quarrelling again!"