"If you knew any thing about the matter, child, you would be aware that _merited_ indignation would be more likely to disagree with her. Unmerited indignation does one no harm in the world, as I can testify from experience; for my lady is dreadfully indignant, as I dare say you guess, at my keeping her and William away from Mowbray Park: and it's ten to one but you will be indignant too, child;--but I can't help it. I love you all three very much, Helen; but I must do what I think right, for all that." "Not indignant, Sir Gilbert;--at least, that would not be the prevailing feeling with me, though a sense of injustice might make it so with my poor mother. What I shall feel will be grief--unceasing grief, if the friend my beloved father most valued and esteemed continues to refuse his countenance and affection to the bereaved family he has left." From the time this conversation began, Sir Gilbert had been striding up and down the room, as it was always his custom to do when he felt himself in a rage, or was conscious that he was about to be so. He now stopped opposite Helen; and while something very like tenderness almost impeded his utterance, he said, "That's trash--abominable false trash! Miss Helen. After what's passed to-day, to say nothing of times past, you must know well enough that I'm not likely to refuse my countenance and affection to your father's children;--bereaved they are, sure enough! You know as well as I do, that I love you all three--for your own sakes, girl, as well as for his;--and your pretending to doubt it, was a hit of trumpery womanhood, Helen,--so never make use of it again: for you see I understand the sex,--and that's just the reason why I like my old woman better than any other _she_ in the wide world;--she never tries any make-believe tricks upon me." "Believe me, Sir Gilbert," said Helen, smiling, "I hate tricks as much as my godmother can: and if it were otherwise, you are the last person I should try them upon. But how can we think you love us, if you will not come near Mowbray?" "You may think it, and know it, very easily, child, by the welcome you shall always find here. It is very likely that you may not be long comfortable at home; and before it happens, remember I have told you that you shall always have a home at Oakley: but it must not be on condition of bringing your mother with you; for see her I will not,--and there's an end." Helen remained silent. She felt painfully convinced that, at least for the present, she should gain nothing by arguing the cause of her mother any farther; and after a long pause, during which Sir Gilbert continued to pace up and down before her, she rose, and sighing deeply, said, "I believe it is time for us to return.--Good-b'ye, Sir Gilbert."