Mrs. Dale had been prepared for opposition and for reproach; but there was a decision about the squire's words, and an air of masterdom in his manner, which made her recognize more fully than she had yet done the difficulty of her position. She almost began to fear that she would lack power to carry out her purpose.
"Indeed, it is not so, Mr. Dale."
"Then what is it?"
"I know that if I attempt to tell you, you will be vexed, and will contradict me."
"Vexed I shall be, probably."
"And yet I cannot help it. Indeed, I am endeavouring to do what is right by you and by the children."
"Never mind me; your duty is to think of them."
"Of course it is; and in doing this they most cordially agree with me."
In using such argument as that, Mrs. Dale showed her weakness, and the squire was not slow to take advantage of it. "Your duty is to them," he said; "but I do not mean by that that your duty is to let them act in any way that may best please them for the moment. I can understand that they should be run away with by some romantic nonsense, but I cannot understand it of you."
"The truth is this, Mr. Dale. You think that my children owe to you that sort of obedience which is due to a parent, and as long as they remain here, accepting from your hands so large a part of their daily support, it is perhaps natural that you should think so. In this unhappy affair about Bell—"