“Yet she has one just as precious as our own.”
“I know that, but I cannot feel it; she seems just like a pretty plaything, made to be dressed up, admired—or laughed at.”
“Would that she could be raised to something nobler, something better!”
“I do not believe that we can raise her. She only thinks me provoking, and you tiresome. She never would listen to Mr. Ewart, and I do believe only goes to church to show off the fashions. I do not see what we could do for her.”
“We can pray, dear Charles, we can pray earnestly; if we have not done so before, we have neglected a duty.”
“My neglect has been greater than yours,” said his brother, “since we have been together for so many years. I have thought it enough if I were not led to folly by her society; I never dreamed that I had any other responsibility about her.”
“But now—”
“Now I feel that I have been wrong. I remember, Ernest, that Faithful roused some to become pilgrims even in Vanity Fair; Hopeful himself was one of them. Perhaps poor Clemmy—”
“Here she comes; I hear the rustle of her silk down the stairs.”