“I am pleased with you,” she said; “you behaved very nicely. Go to bed now.”
“Will you come and see me, Mumsy—mother, I mean—before you go to bed?”
“Oh no, child, nonsense! you must be asleep hours before then. No, this is good-night. Now go quietly.”
Sibyl did go quietly. Mrs. Ogilvie turned to her neighbor.
“That is such an absurd custom,” she said; “I must break her of it.”
“Break your little girl of what?” he asked. “She is a beautiful child,” he added. “I congratulate you on having such a charming daughter.”
“I have no doubt she will make a very pretty woman,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie, “and I trust she will have a successful career; but what I was alluding to now was her insane wish that I should go and say good-night to her. Her father spoils that child dreadfully. He insists on her staying up to our late dinner, which in itself is quite against all my principles, and then will go up to her room every evening when he happens to be at home. She lies awake for him at night, and they talk sentiment to each other. Very bad, is it not; quite out of date.”
“I don’t know,” answered Mr. Rochester; “if it is an old custom it seems to me it has good in it.” As he spoke he thought again of the eager little face, the pathetic soft eyes, the pleading in the voice. Until within this last half-hour he had not known of Sibyl’s existence; but from this instant she was to come into his heart and bear fruit.
Meanwhile the child went straight to her room.