her with orders to
attend her in her chamber.

My mother had been weeping, I saw by her eyes: but her aspect seemed to
be less tender, and less affectionate, than the day before; and this, as
soon as I entered into her presence, struck me with an awe, which gave a
great damp to my spirits.

Sit down, Clary Harlowe; I shall talk to you by-and-by: and continued
looking into a drawer among laces and linens, in a way neither busy nor
unbusy.

I believe it was a quarter of an hour before she spoke to me (my heart
throbbing with the suspense all the time); and then she asked me coldly,
What directions I had given for the day?

I shewed her the bill of fare for this day, and to-morrow, if, I said,
it pleased her to approve of it.

She made a small alteration in it; but with an air so cold and so
solemn, as added to my emotions.

Mr. Harlowe talks of dining out to-day, I think, at my brother
Antony's--

Mr. Harlowe!--Not my father!--Have I not then a father!--thought I.

Sit down when I bid you.

I sat down.

You look very sullen, Clary.

I hope not, Madam.

If children would always be children--parents--And there she stopt.

She then went to her toilette, and looked into the glass, and gave half
a sigh--the other half, as if she would not have sighed if she could
have helped it, she gently hem'd away.

I don't love to see the girl look so sullen.

Indeed, Madam, I am not sullen.--And I arose, and, turning from her,
drew out my handkerchief; for the tears ran down my cheeks.

I thought, by the glass before me, I saw the mother in her softened eye
cast towards me. But her words confirmed not the hoped-for tenderness.

One of the most provoking things in this world is, to have people cry
for what they can help!

I wish to heaven I could, Madam!--And I sobbed again.

Tears of penitence and sobs of perverseness are mighty well suited!--You
may go up to your chamber. I shall talk with you by-and-by.

I courtesied with reverence.

Mock me not with outward gestures of respect. The heart, Clary, is what
I want.

Indeed, Madam, you have it. It is not so much mine as my Mamma's!

Fine talking!--As somebody says, If words were to pass for duty,
Clarissa Harlowe would be the dutifulest child breathing.

God bless that somebody!--Be it whom it will, God bless that
somebody!--And I courtesied, and, pursuant to her last command, was
going.

She seemed struck; but was to be angry with me.

So turning from me