“She always mocks at it, but she gets angry too,” said Celia.
“Ah, that shows a latent misgiving somewhere. I am rather glad of it,” Miss Norreys replied.
Then, feeling that she had perhaps said as much as was wise to the girl, who was, after all, the youngest member of the family, she changed the subject.
But that evening she had a long and exhaustive talk with Mrs Maryon, which ended by Winifred’s mother feeling that she could never be thankful enough for the chance which had brought them the friendship of the woman she had so misjudged.
“And you prefer to put it all before Winifred yourself, then, my dear Miss Norreys?” said Mrs Maryon at the close of their conversation.
“I think so. I have strong grounds of my own. For, you see, though I do absolve her from any intention of deceiving me, the result to me is the same as if she had deliberately done so. In fact, it is almost worse—it makes me seem such a foolish person! I shall tell her that the whole must be explained to Mr Montague, and, as regards the society, it must be left in his hands. And she will not have the excuse of putting it upon Celia now. I may tell her what we have planned for her, may I not?”
“Certainly, most certainly,” said Mrs Maryon. “There is one comfort,” she went on. “If Winifred does give in, she will do so heartily. There is nothing small about her—no jealousies or resentfulness. If she stays at home or sets to work to do her duty here, she will be thorough about it.”
“Then let us devoutly trust she will,” said Miss Norreys. “I feel rather hopeful. I am not sure but that at the bottom of her heart she is a little désillusionnée about her career. It has not all been smooth sailing.”
But at this Winifred’s mother shook her head.
“That, I fear, in a nature like hers, would only rouse greater determination—not to use the harsher word, obstinacy,” she said.