Magdalen drew back a little, and mechanically dusted the parasol with
the end of her garden cloak.
"Yes!" she resumed, doggedly. "Hard on me and hard on Frank."
"Frank!" repeated Norah, advancing on her sister and turning pale as
suddenly as she had turned red. "Do you talk of yourself and Frank as
if your interests were One already? Magdalen! if I hurt _you_, do I hurt
_him_? Is he so near and so dear to you as that?"
Magdalen drew further and further back. A twig from a tree near caught
her cloak; she turned petulantly, broke it off, and threw it on the
ground. "What right have you to question me?" she broke out on a sudden.
"Whether I like Frank, or whether I don't, what interest is it of
yours?" As she said the words, she abruptly stepped forward to pass her
sister and return to the house.
Norah, turning paler and paler, barred the way to her. "If I hold you by
main force," she said, "you shall stop and hear me. I have watched
this Francis Clare; I know him better than you do. He is unworthy of a
moment's serious feeling on your part; he is unworthy of our dear, good,
kind-hearted father's interest in him. A man with any principle, any
honor, any gratitude, would not have come back as he has come back,
disgraced--yes! disgraced by his spiritless neglect of his own duty.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117