“Shyness! It is all pride and temper,” said Dulcibel.
Mr. Meredith thought of certain utterances at dinner the evening before.
“Perhaps not altogether,” he said. “There may have been some fault in the training.”
“I have seen plenty of spoilt children, and they are not like this,” retorted Dulcibel. “I believe she is disagreeable by nature. Think of keeping to that corner, and refusing to speak civilly to anybody all day. It is quite unnatural. I hope we shall hear that her friends are found. There is no return for kindness shown to such a child.”
“Bad bargain, in short,” mused Mr. Meredith. “We don’t object to being repaid in full for our good deeds, do we?”
Dulcibel colored. “Now, how horrid you must have thought me, before you could say that!”
“No, indeed,” Mr. Meredith answered. “I fancy you, like many people, are better than your words.”
“But isn’t it natural to wish for a little love and gratitude in return, when one gives out to people?”
“Quite natural, and not wrong; only sometimes one has to put aside the wish, and rise to a higher level—to ‘do good, hoping for nothing again,’” Mr. Meredith said, looking towards the small person in question. He added softly—“‘Freely ye have received, freely give.’”
Dulcibel sighed.