Bah! mother, you do really make me ill!"
Lady Kingsmead turned, amazed. "You are off your head, too! Can't you
see he is _ill_?"
But Brigit's anger, nursed all during the drive home, burst out afresh.
All her life she and her mother had quarrelled; there had never been
implanted in her even an idea of the common decency of filial respect,
or of its semblance. Her mother's gusty, fitful temper had always, when
roused, been given instant vent in a torrent of vituperation, and the
girl, while too sulky to be so spontaneous even in the unpleasant sense
of the word, had early acquired the habit of speaking to her mother as
she would have to a greatly disliked sister.
So now, when her rage with Carron burst its bounds, and she found, as
she thought, her mother taking his part, she gave free rein to her
temper, and its eloquent bitterness struck Lady Kingsmead for the moment
dumb.
Carron sat still, his face hidden in his hands. When at last Brigit's
arraignment ceased, Lady Kingsmead's turn came, and more feebly, less
effectively, but to the best of her powers, she gave back abuse for
abuse.
It was not a pleasant sight. Unbridled rage never is, even when in a
good cause, and these two undisciplined women had lost all dignity and
said very bad things to each other.
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