Maria turned and regarded him with a frozen look still on her face. “It was She that wanted me to go?” she said, interrogatively.
“She thought maybe it would be best for you, darling,” said Harry. “She means to do right by you, Maria; you must try to think so.”
Maria said nothing.
“But father isn't going to let you go,” said Harry. “He can't do without his little girl.”
Then Maria's strange calm broke up. She clung, weeping, to her father, as if he were her only stay. Harry continued to soothe her.
“Father's blessing!” he whispered in her ear. “She was the best little girl that ever was. She is just like her own dear mother.”
“I wish mother was back,” Maria whispered, her whisper stifled against his ear.
“Oh, my God, so do I!” Harry said, with a half sob. For the minute the true significance of his position overwhelmed him. He felt a regret, a remembrance, that was a passion. He realized, with no disguise, what it all meant: that he a man with the weakness of a child in the hands of a masterly woman, had formerly been in the leading-strings of love for himself, for his own best good, whereas he was now in the grasp of the self-love of another who cared for him only as he promoted her own interests. In a moment, however, he recovered himself. After all, he had a sense of loyalty and duty which amounted to positive strength. He put Maria gently from him with another kiss.
“Well, this won't bring your mother back, dear,” he said, “and God took her away, you know, and what He does is for the best; and She means to do her duty by you, you know, dear. She thought it would be better for you, but father can't spare you, that's all there is about it.”