The walk was pursued towards Craddock. Hadria said she had to ask Dodge, the old gravedigger, if he could give a few days’ work in the garden at the Red House.
The Professor was walking for walking’s sake.
“She is a pretty child, isn’t she?” said Hadria.
“Very; an attractive mite; but she has a will of her own.”
“Yes; I confess I have a moment of exultation when that child sets up one of her passionate screams—the thrilling shriek of a near relation!”
“Really, why?”
“She has to make her way in the world. She must not be too meek. Her mother was a victim to the general selfishness and stupidity. She was too gentle and obedient; too apt to defer to others, to be able to protect herself. I want her child to be strengthened for the battle by a good long draught of happiness, and to be armed with that stoutest of all weapons—perfect health.”
“You are very wise, Mrs. Temperley,” murmured the Professor.
“Mon Dieu! if one had always to judge for others and never for oneself, what Solons we should all be!”
“I hear that you have taken the child under your protection. She may think herself fortunate. It is an act of real charity.”