duties do we not all fail?' Then she gently laid herself back in her
arm-chair, closing her eyes, while she kept fast clasped in her hands
the little book of daily devotion which she had been striving to read
when the conversation had been commenced. Clara knew then that nothing
more was to be said, and that she was not at present to interrupt her
aunt. From her posture, and the closing of her eyelids, Mrs Winterfield
might have been judged to be asleep; but Clara could see the gentle
motion of her lips, and was aware that her aunt was solacing herself
with prayer.

Clara was angry with herself, and angry with all the world. She knew
that the old lady who was sitting then before her was very good; and
that all this that had now been said had come from pure goodness, and a
desire that strict duty might be done; and Clara was angry with herself
in that she had not been more ready with her thanks and more
demonstrative with her love and gratitude. Mrs Winterfield was
affectionate as well as good, and her niece's coldness, as the niece
well knew, had hurt her sorely. But still what could Clara have done or
said? She told herself that it was beyond her power to burst out into
loud praises of Captain Aylmer; and of such nature was the gratitude
which Mrs Winterfield had desired. She was not grateful to Captain
Aylmer, and wanted nothing that was to come from his generosity. And
then her mind went away to that other portion of her aunt's discourse.
Could it be possible that this man was in truth attached to her, and
was repelled simply by her own manner? She was aware that she had
fallen into a habit of fighting with him, of sparring against him with
words about indifferent things, and calling his conduct in question in
a manner half playful and half serious. Could it be the truth that she
was thus robbing herself of that which would be to her as to herself
she had frankly declared the one treasure which she would desire?