"He had probably formed a totally erroneous estimation of her character," remarked Mr. Pring.
"It was a terrible blow to him when John married her," said his wife, sighing; "indeed, it was a trouble to us all. I hope Felicia will be a nice little girl, but brought up as I fear she must have been—"
"My dear, we don't know how she has been brought up," Mr. Pring broke in, a slight tone of reproof in his tone.
"But, father," said Doris gravely, "she can't have been brought up very well, can she? I heard Uncle Guy say once that Uncle John had picked his wife out of the gutter."
"Your Uncle Guy never saw his brother's wife, Doris," her father reminded her; "and—poor fellow!—he seldom reflects before he speaks, or he would not have uttered such a speech as that."
"Then isn't it true, father?"
"It is true that your Uncle John's wife was a foundling, he told me so himself. She was the adopted daughter of the landlady of the house where he lodged when he was a law student in London."
"And Uncle John's wife was a music teacher, wasn't she?" questioned Molly eagerly.
"She was. Your grandfather was prejudiced against her because nothing was ever known of her parentage, and the person who brought her up was only a lodging-house keeper. You see, my dears, he has lived at N— most of his life; if he had rubbed against people like those I used to meet daily when I was a curate in the East End of London, he would know that there are good, noble women whose self-sacrificing lives shine all the brighter in contrast to their uncongenial surroundings. There are saints of the gutter, Doris, living in slums amidst poverty and sin; I have known many such amongst the women-workers who have crossed my path, many of whom have failed of worldly success but who are certainly not failures in the sight of their Father in Heaven. Remember it is not always the purest atmosphere and the brightest sunshine which rears the fairest flowers. The finest forget-me-nots in N— grow on the bank of that dirty, stagnant pool outside the village, and I noticed as I passed yesterday that the water-lilies there are far more beautiful than those in the lake in the Priory grounds; they have blossomed in mud and slime, and God has made them spotless and perfect. And so it is with some souls, reared in dark surroundings of poverty and maybe sin, they grow in grace and beauty, and we, in our ignorance, wonder how that can be. 'It is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes.'"
"Oh, father, I do like your little sermons!" Molly exclaimed with a smile. "I wish grandfather could have heard this one."