‘The question is not of forgiveness,’ said Sophy, in the most rigid of voices, as she saw yielding in her father’s face; if any one had to forgive, it was poor Lucy and Algernon. All we have to do, is to be on our guard for the future.’
‘Sophy is right,’ said Mr. Kendal; ‘intimacy must be over with one who has so little discretion or good taste.’
‘Then after his saving Maurice, he is to be given up, because he quizzed the Polysyllable?’ cried Albinia.
‘I do not give him up,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘I highly esteem his good qualities, and should be happy to do him a service, but I cannot have my family at the mercy of his wit, nor my child taught disrespect. We have been unwisely familiar, and must retreat.’
‘And what do you mean us to do?’ exclaimed Albinia. ‘Are we to cut him systematically?’
‘I do not know what course you may adopt,’ said Mr. Kendal, in a tone whose grave precision rebuked her half petulant, half facetious inquiry. ‘I have told you that I do not mean to do anything extravagant, nor to discontinue ordinary civilities, but I think you will find that our former habits are not resumed.’
‘And Maurice must not be always with him,’ said Sophy.
‘Certainly not; I shall keep the boy with myself.’
It was with the greatest effort that Albinia held her tongue. To have Sophy not only making common cause against her, but inciting her father to interfere about Maurice, was well-nigh intolerable, and she only endured it by sealing her lips as with a bar of iron.
By-and-by came the reflection that if poor Sophy had a secret cause of bitterness, it was she herself who had given those thoughts substance and consciousness, and she quickly forgave every one save herself and Algernon.