“Composing, I find it—but as you please; is it the District Visitors, or the Nurses' Home, or the Children's Holiday, and is it money?” Mrs. Arkwright for some reason was very gracious.
“No, it has nothing to do with the chapel. I wish to speak about... yourself.”
“Yes?” and she looked curiously at him.
“You remember that day when Mr. Arkwright committed you to my care, and I gave my word to..
“Do your best to look after a very troublesome woman,” Mrs. Arkwright interposed hurriedly; “it was a... risky task, and I thought you were far too hasty, and just a little presumptuous, in undertaking it, but you've been a very lenient guardian for your age. Have I done anything wrong?”
“No, and you could not at any time in my eyes,”—Mrs. Arkwright made as though she would curtsey,—“but others might do wrong to you, and I have been anxious for some time.
“Mr. Arkwright was afraid lest some unworthy man should admire you or desire your wealth, and... marry you, and your life be miserable. And he wished me to save you from this, and I promised to do my best.”
“Well?” and her voice had begun to freeze. “I remember all that.”
“It is difficult to speak about such things, but you know that I... would do anything to save you pain....”
“Go on,” and now her eyes were fixed on the minister.