When Jocelyn came to the back of the verandah she was thinking about her brother Maurice, and it never suggested itself to her that she should not speak her thoughts to Meredith, whom she had not seen until three weeks ago. She had never spoken of Maurice behind his back to any man before.
“Does it ever strike you,” she said, “that Maurice is the sort of man to be led astray by evil influence?”
“Yes; or to be led straight by a good influence, such as yours.”
He did not meet her thoughtful gaze. He was apparently watching the retreating form of the horse through the tangle of flower and leaf and tendril.
“I am afraid,” said the girl, “that my influence is not of much account.”
“Do you really believe that?” asked Meredith, turning upon her with a half-cynical smile.
“Yes,” she answered simply.
Before speaking again he took a pull at his cigar.
“Your influence,” he said, “appears to me to be the making of Maurice Gordon. I frequently see serious flaws in the policy of Providence; but I suppose there is wisdom in making the strongest influence that which is unconscious of its power.”
“I am glad you think I have some power over him,” said Jocelyn; “but, at the same time, it makes me uneasy, because it only confirms my conviction that he is very easily led. And suppose my influence—such as it is—was withdrawn? Suppose that I were to die, or, what appears to be more likely, suppose that he should marry?”