At Love's Cost - Page 269/342

"I suppose you only did it for your amusement; I don't suppose you

thought there would be any good in it, that his father or I would allow

Joseph to make such a _fool_ of himself as to throw himself away upon a

girl without any means; but it's all the more shameful. You succeeded

very well; you've turned the poor boy's head and made him miserable.

It's to be hoped that it will stop there, and that he won't be driven

to drink or desperate courses, as some young men are. Of course you'll

say that you never meant anything of the kind. I'm quite prepared for

that--you can be plausible enough when you like; with that quiet,

cat-like manner of yours."

Ida had passed beyond the laughing stage by this time; her face was

pale, her eyes flashing; but she was able to say, with an appearance of

calm: "You are quite right, Mrs. Heron; I have no hesitation in saying that I

did not wish your son to pay me any attention, much less--Oh, do you

not see how ridiculous it is?" she broke out, indignantly, and with a

little desperate laugh. Mrs. Heron's face flamed. "I don't know what

you mean by ridiculous," she snapped. "I should say Joseph was quite

good enough a match for you; and I've no doubt you think so, though you

pretend to sneer at him."

"Let me assure you, Mrs. Heron, that I have never thought of your son

as a possible husband," said Ida. "His attentions to me are more than

unwelcome--and he knows it."

"Oh! then you admit that the poor boy is in love with you, that he has

told you? You see, you can't deceive me; I knew it. I wonder you aren't

ashamed of yourself; at any rate, having caused trouble in the house

that shelters you, that you haven't shame enough to refrain from

flirting, before our very eyes, with the first man that appears."

Ida stared at her in amazement, too great for the moment to permit of

resentment.

"What is this you accuse me of?" she asked. "Oh, pray, pray, do not be

so unreasonable, so unjust!"

Mrs. Heron wagged her head, as one who is not to be deceived by any

affectation of innocence.

"No, thank you, Ida!" she exclaimed. "That won't do for us. We've seen

it with our own eyes, haven't we, Isabel?"

Isabel took out her handkerchief and began to whimper.

"I should never have thought it of you, Ida," she sobbed. "And with

George, too! And I'd only just told you that--that there had been

things between us. I do think you might have left him alone."