to him the real secret of her depression and my anxiety. This doubt grew on me so, after he had gone, that I declined riding out with Sir Percival, and went up to Laura’s room instead.
I have been sadly distrustful of myself, in this difficult and lamentable matter, ever since I found out my own ignorance of the strength of Laura’s unhappy attachment. I ought to have known that the delicacy and forbearance and sense of honour which drew me to poor Hartright, and made me so sincerely admire and
never heard mother speak of him. Father? Ah, dear! he is dead, I suppose.”
“And your mother?”
“I don’t get on well with her. We are a trouble and a fear to each other.”
A trouble and a fear to each other! At those words the suspicion crossed my mind, for the first time, that her mother might be