“First obstacle in the way of her moral development, her father—­tried, found guilty, and dying in prison.  Second obstacle, her mother—­an unnatural wretch who neglected and deserted her own flesh and blood.  Third obstacle, her mother’s sister—­being her mother over again in an aggravated form.  People who only look at the surface of things might ask what we gain by investigating Miss Westerfield’s past life.  We gain this:  we know what to expect of Miss Westerfield in the future.”

“I for one,” Mrs. Linley interposed, “expect everything that is good and true.”

“Say she’s naturally an angel,” Mrs. Presty answered; “and I won’t contradict you.  But do pray hear how my experience looks at it.  I remember what a life she has led, and I ask myself if any human creature could have suffered as that girl has suffered without being damaged by it.  Among those damnable people—­I beg your pardon, my dear; Mr. Norman sometimes used strong language, and it breaks out of me now and then—­the good qualities of that unfortunate young person can not have always resisted the horrid temptations and contaminations about her.  Hundreds of times she must have had deceit forced on her; she must have lied, through ungovernable fear; she must have been left (at a critical time in her life, mind!) with no more warning against the insidious advances of the passions than—­than—­I’m repeating what Mr. Presty said of a niece of his own, who went to a bad school at Paris; and I don’t quite remember what comparisons that eloquent man used when he was excited.  But I know what I mean.  I like Miss Westerfield; I believe Miss Westerfield will come out well in the end.  But I don’t forget that she is going to lead a new life here—­a life of luxury, my dear; a life of ease and health and happiness—­and God only knows what evil seed sown in her, in her past life, may not spring up under new influences.  I tell you we must be careful; I tell you we must keep our eyes open.  And so much the better for Her.  And so much the better for Us.”

Mrs. Presty’s wise and wary advice (presented unfavorably, it must be owned, through her inveterately quaint way of expressing herself) failed to produce the right impression on her daughter’s mind.  Mrs. Linley replied in the tone of a person who was unaffectedly shocked.

“Oh, mamma, I never knew you so unjust before!  You can’t have heard all that Miss Westerfield said to me.  You don’t know her, as I know her.  So patient, so forgiving, so grateful to Herbert.”

“So grateful to Herbert.”  Mrs. Presty looked at her daughter in silent surprise.  There could be no doubt about it; Mrs. Linley failed entirely to see any possibilities of future danger in the grateful feeling of her sensitive governess toward her handsome husband.  At this exhibition of simplicity, the old lady’s last reserves of endurance gave way:  she rose to go.  “You have an excellent heart, Catherine,” she remarked; “but as for your head—­”