These things I tried to recall to papa's mind, but he angrily bade me be silent.
“I cannot,” I said, “because, if we had taken better care of the girl, this might never have happened. When I think of her—her pleasant ways about the house—how she used to go singing over her work of mornings—poor innocent young thing—oh, papa! papa!”
“Dora,” he said, eyeing me closely; “what change has come over you of late?”
I said, I did not know, unless it was that which must come over people who have been very unhappy—the wish to save other people as much unhappiness as they can.
“Explain yourself. I do not understand.” When he did, he said abruptly,—
“Stop. It was well you waited to consult with me. If your own delicacy does not teach you better, I must. My daughter—the daughter of the clergyman of the parish—cannot possibly be allowed to interfere with these profligates.”
My heart sunk like lead:—
“But you, papa? They are here; you, as the rector, must do something. What shall you do?”
He thought a little.
“I shall forbid them the church and the sacrament; omit them from my charities; and take every lawful means to get them out of the neighbourhood. This, for my family's sake, and the parish's—that they may carry their corruption elsewhere.”