“You have given it back!” said her sister.

“Yes; I have said they may have it.  It is of no use to me.  I hate the place.”

“You have been very generous,” said Mrs. Clavering.

“But that will not affect your income,” said Hermione.

“No, that would not affect my income.”  Then she paused, not knowing how to go on with the story of her purpose.

“If I may say so, Lady Ongar,” said Mrs. Clavering, “I would not, if I were you, take any steps in so important a matter without advice.”

“Who is there that can advise me?  Of course the lawyer tells me that I ought to keep it all.  It is his business to give such advice as that.  But what does he know of what I feel?  How can he understand me?  How, indeed, can I expect that any one shall understand me?”

“But it is possible that people should misunderstand you,” said Mrs. Clavering.

“Exactly.  That is just what he says.  But, Mrs. Clavering, I care nothing for that.  I care nothing for what any body says or thinks.  What is it to me what they say?”

“I should have thought it was every thing,” said her sister.

“No, it is nothing—­nothing at all.”  Then she was again silent, and was unable to express herself She could not bring herself to declare in words that self-condemnation of her own conduct which was now weighing so heavily upon her.  It was not that she wished to keep back her own feelings either from her sister or from Mrs. Clavering, but that the words in which to express them were wanting to her.

“And have they accepted the house?” Mrs. Clavering asked.

“They must accept it.  What else can they do?  They can not make me call it mine if I do not choose.  If I refuse to take the income which Mr. Courton’s lawyer pays in to my bankers, they can not compel me to have it.”

“But you are not going to give that up too?” said her sister.

“I am.  I will not have his money—­not more than enough to keep me from being a scandal to his family.  I will not have it.  It is a curse to me, and has been from the first.  What right have I to all that money, because—­because—­because—­” She could not finish her sentence, but turned away from them, and walked by herself to the window.

Lady Clavering looked at Mrs. Clavering as though she thought that her sister was mad.  “Do you understand her?” said Lady Clavering, in a whisper.

“I think I do,” said the other.  “I think I know what is passing in her mind.”  Then she followed Lady Ongar across the room, and, taking her gently by the arm, tried to comfort her—­to comfort her and to argue with her as to the rashness of that which she proposed to do.  She endeavored to explain to the poor woman how it was that she should at this moment be wretched, and anxious to do that which, if done, would put it out of her power afterward to make herself useful in the world.  It shocked the prudence of Mrs. Clavering—­this idea of abandoning money, the possession of which was questioned by no one.  “They do not want it, Lady Ongar,” she said.