"She holds nothing sacred," went on Mr. Gresley, remembering an unfortunate incident in the clergyman's career. "Her life here seems to have had no softening effect upon her. She sneers openly at religion. I never thought, I never allowed myself to think, that she was so dead to spiritual things as her book forces me to believe. Even her good people, her heroine, have not a vestige of religion, only a sort of vague morality, right for the sake of right, and love teaching people things; nothing real."
There was a moment's silence.
"Hester is my sister," said Mr. Gresley, "and I am fond of her in spite of all, and she has no one to look to for help and guidance but me. I am her only near relation. That is why I feel so much the way she disregards all I say. She does not realize that it is for her sake I speak."
Mr. Gresley thought he was sincere, because he was touched.
Mrs. Gresley's cheek burned. That faithful, devoted little heart, which lived only for her husband and children, could not brook—what? That her priest should be grieved and disregarded? Or was it any affection for and interest in another woman that it could not brook?
"I have made up my mind," said Mr. Gresley, "to forbid her most solemnly when she comes back to-morrow to publish that book."
"She does not come back to-morrow, but this evening," said the young wife; and pushed by some violent, nameless feeling which was too strong for her, she added, "She will not obey you. When has she ever listened to what you say? She will laugh at you, James. She always laughs at you. And the book will be published all the same."
"It shall not," said Mr. Gresley, coloring darkly. "I shall not allow it."
"You can't prevent it," said Mrs. Gresley, her breath coming quickly. She was not thinking of the book at all, but of the writer. What was a book, one more or one less? It was her duty to speak the truth to her husband. His sister, whom he thought so much of, had no respect for his opinion, and he ought to know it. Mr. Gresley did know it, but he felt no particular satisfaction in his wife's presentment of the fact.
"It is no use saying I can't prevent it," he said, coldly, letting his arm fall by his side. He was no longer thinking of the book either, but of the disregard of his opinion, nay, of his authority, which had long gravelled him in his sister's attitude towards him. "I shall use my authority when I see fit, and if I have so far used persuasion rather than authority, it was only because, in my humble opinion, it was the wisest course."