It was like a stinging blow in the face to the sensitive girl. She was almost stunned by the rush of feeling that came over her. A few weeks ago she could have borne it better—she would have been more angry, but less overwhelmed with pain and shame.
The wakening womanhood within her made the accusation almost intolerable. The very looks and words which had passed between them that day seemed to rise up before her in a bewildering mist. Could it possibly be true what her aunt was saying? Had she been forward, unwomanly, fast? Had she made people remark upon her—got herself talked of as a flirt?—hateful title that Sheila recoiled from as from a blow. She had liked to be with Ronald, she had thought he liked being with her. But her aunt had said it was she who was always entrapping him—those were the very words. Oh, how cruel, how cruel and unjust! But it was not true, no, it was not! Only if such things were being said, she could never, never, never see Ronald again all her life!
A wave of sudden desolation seemed to sweep over Sheila. A rush of hot tears flooded her eyes. She burst into sobs and flung herself down on the sofa, crying—
“Oh, how can you say such cruel things? How can you?”
“I say them for your good—because they are true,” answered Mrs. Cossart, her anger in no way appeased by the sight of Sheila’s grief; “and there is the less excuse for you, because you have always had Effie’s example before you. You will never find her lowering herself by running after young men as you have been doing; and I tell you, Sheila, that nothing so disgusts those very young men as seeing girls do this. They humour them at the time for their amusement, and because their vanity is flattered; but in the end they despise them. Mr. Dumaresq has been very kind to you, but he must know perfectly well that you are trying to get him for a husband.”
Sheila suddenly started up, her face suddenly grown white.
“Aunt Cossart, you shall not say that again! I will not bear it from you. Yes, I will go away. I would not stay after this. Where is my uncle? Let me talk to him, but please do not say another word. I cannot bear it!”
There was something in the girl’s sudden change of manner that half frightened Mrs. Cossart. She did not particularly want Sheila and her uncle to meet just now.