It must not be supposed, however, that Mrs. Parke’s treatment of Mar had any distinct evil intention. It was her real conviction that the boy would not live, and she dealt with him as the man in the parable dealt with the talent which was given to him to make profit of, and which he laid up in a napkin. Had she been more generously inspired she would have endeavored, even by taking a risk, to stimulate the forces of the delicate boy. Had he been her own son this is what she would have done; but Letitia’s first thought was, not to save him, but that it might not be said he had been exposed to any danger while under her charge. She thought that she protected herself from all blame by making a hothouse plant of the boy, and shutting him up from every wind that blew. “No one can say he has not been taken every care of,” she said. Should “anything happen,” she, at least, would thus be free from blame. It would be known to all that she had been more careful of him than of her own--that she had not suffered the winds of heaven to visit his cheeks too roughly. That she had kept him from fatigue, from excitement, from everything calculated to hurt him. And in all this she was sincere enough. That she had also wished to ignore him, to keep him in the background, to give her own children the advantages which were meant chiefly for Mar, did not hurt her conscience. It was not for herself--she derived no benefit from the fact that Mar was not sent to school--on the contrary it was a self denial to her, a bond preventing her from amusing herself as she would, never leaving home except for a day or two. That it gave to Duke the principal place, and made John a much more important person in the county, were objects unconnected with Mrs. Parke’s personality--then how could she be called selfish? It can never be selfishness to strive for the pre-eminence of your husband and your child. Thus Letitia made her conscience quite comfortable when it did by chance give her a pinch. But generally it must be said her perfect conviction that she was right, whatever she did, daunted her conscience and kept everything quiet. Of course she was right! She had a delicate boy to bring up who everybody said would never be reared, and she took such care of him that he was never exposed to a draught, or suffered to escape from the cotton wool in which her assiduous and constant attention enveloped him. What could a woman do more? She thus put herself beyond the possibility of reproach whatever happened, while strengthening the conviction of everybody around that the young Lord Frogmore would never live to grow up; but if people chose to form that conclusion the fault was not Letitia’s. She shared it indeed herself, and shook her head over the state of Mar’s health; but when amiable neighbors said, “If care will save him I am sure, dear Mrs. Parke, you will do it,” she shook her hand again. “I do all I can,” she said, “at the risk of being told I do more harm than good.