"Your mother! I tell you it's an infamy, Clare! It's a miserable sin!
I tell you, if I had done such a thing I would not live an hour after it.
And coldly to prepare for it! to be busy about your dresses! They told
me when I came in that you were with the milliner. To be smiling over
the horrible outrage! decorating yourself!"...

"Dear Richard," said Clare, "you will make me very unhappy."

"That one of my blood should be so debased!" he cried, brushing angrily
at his face. "Unhappy! I beg you to feel for yourself, Clare. But I
suppose," and he said it scornfully, "girls don't feel this sort of
shame."

She grew a trifle paler.

"Next to mama, I would wish to please you, dear Richard."

"Have you no will of your own?" he exclaimed.

She looked at him softly; a look he interpreted for the meekness he
detested in her.

"No, I believe you have none!" he added. "And what can I do? I can't
step forward and stop this accursed marriage. If you would but say a
word I would save you; but you tie my hands. And they expect me to stand
by and see it done!"

"Will you not be there, Richard?" said Clare, following the question with
her soft eyes. It was the same voice that had so thrilled him on his
marriage morn.