"I detested scenes--I ever detested scenes, Julia!" Lady Wetheral rose into a sitting posture as she spoke. "I warned you from the beginning, all of you, never to offend me by violent measures, which draw down ridicule and disgust. Clara and yourself were married greatly, Julia!" "Where has been our greatness?" said Lady Ennismore, despondingly. "You were both placed in affluence," retorted her mother, with nervous trepidation, "and your high positions were exalted above your companions. You were greatly married--that was _my_ doing: but you have thrown yourselves from the pinnacle of earthly honours--and that was _your_ doing!" "Mother, I have been betrayed, banished from my husband's presence--unhappy, and uncared for," said Lady Ennismore, releasing her hand, and sinking upon the floor in despair. "I told you," continued Lady Wetheral, becoming almost vehement in her manner, "I told you many things might occur to distress your heart, but nothing could arise to make you an object of ridicule to the world, except your own folly. You have flown from Lord Ennismore's house--who will receive you? who receives a truant wife?" "I was miserable," said the prostrate Julia. "How few are otherwise," returned her mother, "if all secrets were disclosed? Happiness is a nonsensical word--a rock to shipwreck romantic hopes. We may not command happiness, but we _can_ command external blessings. With every luxury that reflected honour upon human beings, what right had you and Clara to be otherwise than content?" "How cold--how cruel to speak so harshly!" ejaculated Lady Ennismore. "Had you not rank?" continued Lady Wetheral--"had you not a princely home--an earl's coronet? Had you not all the world can bestow, when you fled from your husband's protection?" "I fled from treachery and from infamy!" "Infamy! Who dares report of infamy?" Lady Wetheral started to her feet, and supported herself by grasping the back of a chair. "Has my daughter, Lady Ennismore, allowed herself to become--? has the breath of suspicion breathed upon a Wetheral!--has _one_ suspicion glanced upon you, Julia?" "I have flown to my father, to avoid my own reproach," cried Julia; "I care not for the world--I have flown to escape the reproaches of my own heart." "Folly--madness!" observed her mother--"flown from your heart! What heart had you which was not wedded to your station--to the eminence in life upon which you were called to stand above your companions? Are you not wedded to the title of Ennismore? Are you not the proud wife of a British peer?--an earl's wife? Is not your heart hid behind the folds of your ermine, and buried in the magnificence of your lot?"