"Little good can come to my Marion from such amusements, Mrs. Roden; but something, perhaps, of harm. Wilt thou say that such recreation must necessarily be of service to a girl born to perform the hard duties of a strict life?"
"I would trust Marion in anything," said Mrs. Roden, eagerly.
"So would I; so would I. She hath ever been a good girl."
"But do you not distrust her if you shut her up, and are afraid to allow her even to sit at table in a strange house?"
"I have never forbidden her to sit at thy table," said the Quaker.
"And you should let her go specially as a kindness to me. For my son's sake I have promised to be there, and it would be a comfort to me to have another woman with me."
"Then you will hardly need me," said Mr. Fay, not without a touch of jealousy.
"He specially pressed his request that you would come. It is among such as you that he would wish to make himself known. Moreover, if Marion is to be there, you, I am sure, will choose to accompany her. Would you not wish to see how the child bears herself on such an occasion?"
"On all occasions, at all places, at all hours, I would wish to have my child with me. There is nothing else left to me in all the world on which my eye can rest with pleasure. But I doubt whether it may be for her good." Then he took his departure, leaving the matter still undecided, speaking of it with words which seemed to imply that he must ultimately refuse, but impressing Mrs. Roden with a conviction that he would at last accept the invitation.
"Doest thou wish it thyself?" he said to his daughter before retiring to rest that night.