But I think, if you'll keep me, I'll stay.' And she once more rested her head clingingly on Mrs.Leyburn's knee.
But _do_ you--'_do_ you love him, Catherine ?' 'I love you, mother, and the girls, and my life here.' 'Oh dear,' sighed Mrs.Leyburn, as though addressing a third person, the tears, in her mild eyes, 'she won't; and she _would_ like it--and so should I!' Catherine rose, stung beyond bearing.
'And I count for nothing to you, mother!'-- her deep voice quivering; 'you could put me aside--you and the girls, and live as though I had never been!' 'But you would be a great deal to us if you did marry, Catherine!' cried Mrs.Leyburn, almost with an accent of pettishness.

'People have to do without their daughters.

There's Agnes--I often think, as it is, you might let her do more.

And if Rose were troublesome, why, you know it might be a good thing--a very good thing if there were a man to take her in hand!' 'And you, mother, without me ?' cried poor Catherine, choked.
'Oh, I should come and see you,' said Mrs.Leyburn, brightening.

'They say it _is_ such a nice house, Catherine, and such pretty country, and I'm sure I should like his mother, though she _is_ Irish!' It was the bitterest moment of Catherine Leyburn's life.