"Certainly, Clara," said Mrs. Broughton, preparing to accompany her.
"But before you go, Mrs. Broughton," said Mrs. Van Siever, "it may be as well that I should tell you that my daughter is going to become the wife of Mr. Musselboro. It may simplify matters that you should know this." And Mrs. Van Siever, as she spoke, looked hard at Conway Dalrymple.
"Mamma!" exclaimed Clara.
"My dear," said Mrs. Van Siever, "you had better change your dress and come away with me."
"Not till I have protested against what you have said, mamma."
"You had better leave your protesting alone, I can tell you."
"Mrs. Broughton," continued Clara, "I must beg you to understand that mamma has not the slightest right in the world to tell you what she just now said about me. Nothing on earth would induce me to become the wife of Mr. Broughton's partner."
There was something which made Clara unwilling even to name the man whom her mother had publicly proposed as her future husband.
"He isn't Mr. Broughton's partner," said Mrs. Van Siever. "Mr. Broughton has not got a partner. Mr. Musselboro is the head of the firm. And as to your marrying him, of course, I can't make you."
"No, mamma; you cannot."
"Mrs. Broughton understands that, no doubt;—and so, probably, does Mr. Dalrymple. I only tell them what are my ideas. If you choose to marry the sweep at the crossing, I can't help it. Only I don't see what good you would do the sweep, when he would have to sweep for himself and you too. At any rate, I suppose you mean to go home with me now?" Then Mrs. Broughton and Clara left the room, and Mrs. Van Siever was left with Conway Dalrymple. "Mr. Dalrymple," said Mrs. Van Siever, "do not deceive yourself. What I told you just now will certainly come to pass."
"It seems to me that that must depend on the young lady," said Dalrymple.
"I'll tell you what certainly will not depend on the young lady," said Mrs. Van Siever, "and that is whether the man who marries her will have more with her than the clothes she stands up in. You will understand that argument, I suppose?"
"I'm not quite sure that I do," said Dalrymple.
"Then you'd better try to understand it. Good-morning, sir. I'm sorry you've had to slit your picture." Then she curtseyed low, and walked out on to the landing-place. "Clara," she cried, "I'm waiting
