Meynell shrugged his shoulders.
"She has no bump of respect—never had!" and he began to give a half humorous account of the troubles and storms of Hester's bringing up. "I often ask myself whether we haven't all—whether I, in particular, haven't been a first-class bungler and blundered all through with regard to Hester. Did we choose the wrong governesses? They seemed most estimable people. Did we thwart her unnecessarily? I can't remember a time when she didn't have everything she wanted!"
"She didn't get on very well with her father?" suggested Mary timidly.
Meynell made a sudden movement, and did not answer for a moment.
"Sir Ralph and she were always at cross-purposes," he said at last. "But he was kind to her—according to his lights; and—he said some very sound and touching things to me about her—on his death-bed."
There was a short silence. Meynell had covered his eyes with his hand.
Mary was at a loss how to continue the conversation, when he resumed:
"I wonder if you will understand how strangely this anxiety weighs upon me—just now."
"Just now?"
"Here am I preaching to others," he said slowly, "leading what people call a religious movement, and this homely elementary task seems to be all going wrong. I don't seem to be able to protect this child confided to me."
"Oh, but you will protect her!" cried Mary, "you will! She mayn't seem to give way—when you talk to her; but she has said things to me—to my mother too—"