Mary reported that she had been in and out as usual, and seemed reconciled to the prospect of Paris. "Are you--is Miss Puttenham sure that she hasn't still been meeting that man?" Mary turned a startled look upon him. "I thought he had gone away?" "There may be a stratagem in that. I have been keeping what watch I could--but at this time--what use am I?" The Rector threw himself back wearily in his chair, his hands behind his head. Mary was conscious of some deep throb of feeling that must not come to words. Even since she had known it the face had grown older--the lines deeper--the eyes finer. She stooped forward a little. "It is hard that you should have this anxiety too. Oh! but I _hope_ there is no need!" He raised himself again with energy. "There is always need with Hester. Oh! don't suppose I have forgotten her! I have written to that fellow, my cousin. I went, indeed, to see him the day before yesterday, but the servants at Sandford declared he had gone to town, and they were packing up to follow. Lady Fox-Wilton and Miss Alice here have been keeping a close eye on Hester herself, I know; but if she chose, she could elude us all!" "She couldn't give such pain--such trouble!" cried Mary indignantly. The Rector shook his head sadly. Then he looked at his companion. "Has she made a friend of you? I wish she would." "Oh! she doesn't take any account of me," said Mary, laughing. "She is quite kind to me--she tells me when she thinks my frock is hideous--or my hat's impossible--or she corrects my French accent. She is quite kind, but she would no more think of taking advice from me than from the sofa-cushion." 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."