"You had outgrown me and my
ways altogether. It was nonsense to suppose that you would
have been satisfied to come back and live here again,
over the shop. I couldn't think for the life of me what I
was going to do with you. But now your uncle has taken
all that into his own hands. He can give you the kind
of home that goes with your education and your ideas--and
what more do you want? Why should you come bothering me?"
"How unjust you are, mamma!" cried Julia, with a glaze
of tears upon her bright glance.
The widow took her elbow from the desk, and, slowly
straightening herself, looked down upon her daughter.
Her long plain face, habitually grave in expression,
conveyed no hint of exceptional emotion, but the fingers
of the large, capable hands she clasped before her
writhed restlessly against one another, and there
was a husky-threat of collapse in her voice as she spoke:
"If you ever have children of your own," she said,
"and you slave your life out to bring them up so that
they'll think themselves your betters, and they act
accordingly--then you'll understand. But you don't understand
now--and there's no good our talking any more about it.
Come in whenever it's convenient--and you feel like it.
I must go back to my books now."
She took up a pen at this, and opened the cash-book
upon the blotter.
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