“No better than I have to be,” returned Donal. “Not to be good to Davie would be to be a wretch.”
“You know, Mr. Grant, I cannot agree with you!”
“There is no immediate necessity, my lady.”
“But I suppose one may be fair to another!” she went on, doubtingly, “—and it is only fair to confess that he is much more manageable since you came. Only that is no good if it does not come from the right source.”
“Grapes do not come from thorns, my lady. We must not allow in evil a power of good.”
She did not reply.
“He minds everything I say to him now,” she resumed. “What is it makes him so good?—I wish I had had such a tutor!”
She stopped again: she had spoken out of the simplicity of her thought, but the words when said looked to her as if they ought not to have been said.
“Something is working in her!” thought Donal. “She is so different! Her voice is different!”
“But that is not what I wanted to speak to you about, Mr. Grant,” she re-commenced, “—though I did want you to know I was aware of the improvement in Davie. I wished to say something about my uncle.”