Once in the chair, she waggled her head dolorously, and moaned out against upstart vulgarians who, without a name or a shilling, insinuated themselves like vipers into households of honor, and, coiling themselves upon the very hearthstones, dealt death to fondest hopes.
Dorothy, who, for all the selfish shallowness of that relative, loved her mother, tried to take her hand.

At a shadow of sympathy she would have laid before Mrs.Hanway-Harley the last secret her bosom hid.

There was no sympathy, nothing of mother's love; Mrs.Hanway-Harley, in the narrowness of her egotism, could consider no feelings not her own.
"Don't; don't touch me!" she cried.

"Don't add hypocrisy to your ingratitude!" Then, in tones that seemed to pillory Dorothy as reprobate and lost, she cried: "You have disgraced me--disgraced your father, your uncle, and me!" "Another word," cried Dorothy, moving with a resentful swoop towards the bell, "and I'll call Uncle Pat to judge between us! Yes; he is in his study.

Uncle Pat shall hear you!" Mrs.Hanway-Harley, glass knees and all, got between Dorothy and the bell.