Amethyst coloured a little, she wondered how much the Rector knew; but she was too worldly-wise to ignore the troubles.
“I suppose, Mr Riddell,” she said, “that you know why we left London so suddenly?”
“Yes, my dear,” he said gently, “I know all that is to be said on that matter. I am sorry.”
“It is a very unhappy prospect for myself and my sisters,” said Amethyst, with straightforward dignity. “I don’t in the least see how we are to lead lives that can be at all good. You were very kind to me once—you told me to try and be a little better, if I could not be good. May I speak to you now?”
“Surely,” said Mr Riddell; then after a moment he added, “My son has told me how fatally he was once mistaken, and how cruel an injury he once did you.”
“Yes,” said Amethyst, “but that is all at an end.” She paused; then said, with a deep blush, “Your son has done me a great service now, far greater than the harm he did then. I don’t want to speak about what is all over. If I could work or study, I could be quite happy. Indeed, I do care for many other things besides society and admiration; but there is such a wretched life before us. We shall never see good or clever people. And I do not feel religion as Una does, though indeed, Mr Riddell, I wish more to be good than for anything else in the world, though I have not been good lately.”
There was something in the simplicity of this final appeal—coming from this rarely beautiful girl, with her look of belonging to the great ones of the earth—that was very touching. Mr Riddell did not answer her for a minute, then he said—
“That trying to be a little better of which you spoke, that relative goodness that no lot can make impossible—it is important to be clear as to what is meant by better. Is it to make life a little smoother, or a little nobler, each day?”
Amethyst looked up as if these words struck her.
“And, Amethyst,” said Mr Riddell, stopping in his walk and taking her by the hand; “there is no need for you to stop at a little—