"I presume my sister, Mrs. Sherman, will take up with you the question
of--er--compensation."

"O--" quickly, with a little shudder, "that's all right!"

"If it isn't all right, it shall be made so," said Mr. Ronald cordially.

Claire winced. "It is quite, it is perfectly all right!" she repeated
hurriedly, anxious to escape the distasteful subject, still smarting
under the lash of her own self-condemnation--her own wounded pride.

How could she have forgotten, even for a moment, that she was no longer
in a position to deal with these people on equal terms? That now,
kindness on their part meant patronage, on hers presumption. Of course,
she deserved the snub she had received. But, all the same, it hurt! O,
but it hurt! She knew her George Eliot well. It was a pity she did not
recall and apply a certain passage in Maggie Tulliver's experience.

"It did not occur to her that her irritation was due to the pleasanter
emotion which preceded it, just as when we are satisfied with a sense of
glowing warmth, an innocent drop of cold water may fall upon us with a
sudden smart."

Mr. Ronald, searching her face for some clue to the abrupt change in her
voice and manner, saw her cheeks grow white, her lips and chin quiver
painfully.

"You are not well?" he asked, after a second of troubled groping in the
dark.