"My dear Maude, don't set me up on a pedestal. Do you know that two years ago I was a godless heathen? and then gradually I began to see beauty in things I had scorned before. I don't know how I did it, but I was gently and surely drawn into quite another environment. It sounds mystical, doesn't it? I came to see what a wonderful creed we have as Christians, and I came to know the Founder of our creed. You have grown up in that atmosphere. Don't try to leave it, I beseech you. Now I'm not going to preach any more, tell me about this sick woman."
After this little talk, Maude's wave of discontent vanished. She did not very often come up to the Court, and when she did, she saw things at a truer value.
The summer wore away. Mrs. Burke's liking for Rowena did not lessen, and she more than once had serious talks with her. If Rowena expressed disapproval of certain things, she was not angry with her, only pursued her way, laughing at her "squeamishness." But occasionally she modified her schemes to Rowena's requirements.
One afternoon in late September, she and Rowena were enjoying their tea together over a good fire in the big drawing-room. The last of her guests had left the house about an hour before, and Mrs. Burke leant back in her comfortable easy-chair with a sense of relief.
"The last of my visitors," she said. "I shall have a quiet week or two, before we move up to town. I hate a winter in the country, but I always come down here for Christmas. It seems the thing to do."
"I am sure that reason does not weigh with you," said Rowena laughing.
"No, perhaps it does not. I hate conventions."
"Will you want me to come up to town with you?"
"Why, of course I do. How should I get on without you?"
"I could stay down here and caretake for you, and do most of your correspondence without you. You leave me such a free and independent hand in your affairs, that I believe I could carry on, with an occasional inquiry by post."