"'Pon my word, now, I wish I'd never spoken those unlucky words that
first day at dinner. Do you remember how she took them up? It was
like a prophecy of what was to come, now, wasn't it? And she looked
pale from that day, and I don't think she has ever fairly enjoyed her
food since. I must take more care what I say for the future. Not but
what Gibson is doing the very best thing, both for himself and her,
that he can do. I told him so only yesterday. But I'm very sorry for
the little girl, though. I wish I'd never spoken about it, that I do!
but it was like a prophecy, wasn't it?"
Roger tried hard to find out a reasonable and right method of
comfort, for he, too, in his way, was sorry for the girl, who bravely
struggled to be cheerful, in spite of her own private grief, for his
mother's sake. He felt as if high principle and noble precept ought
to perform an immediate work. But they do not, for there is always
the unknown quantity of individual experience and feeling, which
offer a tacit resistance, the amount incalculable by another, to all
good counsel and high decree. But the bond between the Mentor and his
Telemachus strengthened every day. He endeavoured to lead her out
of morbid thought into interest in other than personal things; and,
naturally enough, his own objects of interest came readiest to hand.
She felt that he did her good, she did not know why or how; but after
a talk with him, she always fancied that she had got the clue to
goodness and peace, whatever befell.