“You are to take it,” she said, “as expressing my conviction that I saddled myself with the charge of an incorrigibly heartless, obstinate and perverse girl, when I undertook the care of Blanche.”
“Did you say ‘incorrigibly?’”
“I said ‘incorrigibly.’”
“If the case is as hopeless as that, my dear Madam—as Blanche’s guardian, I ought to find means to relieve you of the charge of Blanche.”
“Nobody shall relieve me of a duty that I have once undertaken!” retorted Lady Lundie. “Not if I die at my post!”
“Suppose it was consistent with your duty,” pleaded Sir Patrick, “to be relieved at your post? Suppose it was in harmony with that ‘self-sacrifice’ which is ‘the motto of women?’”
“I don’t understand you, Sir Patrick. Be so good as to explain yourself.”
Sir Patrick assumed a new character—the character of a hesitating man. He cast a look of respectful inquiry at his sister-in-law, sighed, and shook his head.
“No!” he said. “It would be asking too much. Even with your high standard of duty, it would be asking too much.”
“Nothing which you can ask me in the name of duty is too much.”