that I fear I have tired you. Shall I take Miss Laura with me, or would
you like to have her a little longer?"

My mother grasped my hand. "You are very kind," she said to Miss
Reinhart, "but I am weak and nervous; so little tires me."

"Yes, it is very sad," she answered, in cold, sweet tones.

I hated her voice, I hated her sweetness, I hated her. Child as I was, a
tempest of scorn and grief and bitter rebellion raged within me. Why
should she stand there in what seemed to me the insolent pride of her
beauty, while my sweet mother was never to stand again? Why should she
speak in those pitying tones? My mother did not need her pity. Then my
father came up, too, and said that Miss Reinhart had better delay for a
few days before beginning the routine of her duties so as to get used to
the place. She seemed quite willing.

"Laura," said Sir Roland, "will you take Miss Reinhart to her room?"

But I clung to my mother's hand.

"I cannot leave mamma," I said. "Please do not ask me."

He turned from me with an apology.

"Laura can never leave her mother," he said.

She answered:

"Laura is quite right."