“I am sorry,” replied Bessie, looking so full of sympathy that Mrs. Sefton relaxed from her usual cold dignity.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, and now there were tears in her eyes, “I am afraid it is all my fault. I have indulged Edna too much, and given her her own way in everything; and now she tyrannizes over us all. If I had only acted differently.” And here the poor woman sighed.
Bessie echoed the sigh, but she could think of nothing to say that could comfort Mrs. Sefton; she was evidently reaping the effects of her own injudicious weakness. She had not taught her child to practice self-discipline and self-control. Her waywardness had been fostered by indulgence, and her temper had become more faulty. “What man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?” asked the Divine Teacher; and yet there are many parents who offer these stony gifts to their children, loading them with false kindness and indulgence, leaving evil weeds unchecked, and teaching them everything but the one thing needful.
“Oh, how different from mother!” thought Bessie, when she was left alone, and recalled the time when her young will had been over strong, and there had been difficult points in her character, and yet, how sensibly and how tenderly her mother had dealt with them.
She had never been blind to one of her children’s faults, and up to a certain age it had been her habit on the eve of their birthdays, to talk quietly to them, pointing out their failings and defective habits, and giving her opinion on the year’s improvement. “On a birthday one ought to begin afresh,” she would say, “and make a new start.” How well Bessie could remember these talks, and the gentle words of praise that generally closed them. She was almost sorry when she was too grown up for them, and quiet self-examinations took the place of those fond maternal admonitions.
When Bessie joined the family at breakfast she found Mr. Sinclair helping Edna with the urn. He accosted Bessie with much friendliness, and seemed pleased to see her again. She had been prepossessed with him at their first meeting, and she thought his manner still pleasanter on this second occasion, and she was struck afresh with his air of quiet refinement. He took part in the conversation with much animation, and talked more to Richard than to any one else.
Edna did not appear to have recovered herself; she took very little notice of anybody, and received her fiancé’s attention rather ungraciously. Bessie thought she looked as though she had not slept well; her eyes had a heavy look in them, as though her head ached. Bessie had her ride directly afterward, and as Richard assisted her to mount, Mr. Sinclair stood on the steps and watched them.
“What are you and Edna going to do with yourselves?” asked Richard presently.
Mr. Sinclair smiled.
“I shall do whatever Edna likes; perhaps she will drive me somewhere; she looks as though the fresh air would do her good. I shall have to go back to town this evening, so I must make the most of my day in the country.”