“A very superior young person, I assure you,” was the reply, gravely spoken.  “Miss Doran is a young woman of her time; she ranks with the emancipated; she is as far above the Girton girl as that interesting creature is above the product of an establishment for young ladies.  Miss Doran has no prejudices, and, in the vulgar sense of the word, no principles.  She is familiar with the Latin classics and with the Parisian feuilletons; she knows all about the newest religion, and can tell you Sarcey’s opinion of the newest play.  Miss Doran will discuss with you the merits of Sarah Bernhardt in ’La Dame aux Camelias,’ or the literary theories of the brothers Goncourt.  I am not sure that she knows much about Shakespeare, but her appreciation of Baudelaire is exquisite.  I don’t think she is naturally very cruel, but she can plead convincingly the cause of vivisection.  Miss Doran—­”

Spence interrupted him with a burst of laughter.

“All which, my dear fellow, simply means that you—­”

Mallard, in his turn, interrupted gruffly.

“Precisely:  that I am the wrong man to hold even the position of steward to one so advanced.  What have I to do with heiresses and fashionable ladies?  I have my work to get on with, and it shall not suffer from the intrusion of idlers.”

“I see you direct your diatribe half against Mrs. Lessingham.  How has she annoyed you?”

“Annoyed me?  You never were more mistaken.  It’s with myself that I am annoyed.”

“On what account?”

“For being so absurd as to question sometimes whether my responsibility doesn’t extend beyond stock and share.  I ask myself whether Doran—­who so befriended me, and put such trust in me, and paid me so well in advance for the duties I was to undertake—­ didn’t take it for granted that I should exercise some influence in the matter of his daughter’s education?  Is she growing up what he would have wished her to be?  And if—­”

“Why, it’s no easy thing to say what views he had on this subject.  The lax man, we know, is often enough severe with his own womankind.  But as you have given me no description of what Cecily really is, I can offer no judgment.  Wait till I have seen her.  Doubtless she fulfils her promise of being beautiful?”

“Yes; there is no denying her beauty.”

“As for her modonite, why, Mr. Ross Mallard is a singular person to take exception on that score.”

“I don’t know about that.  When did I say that the modern woman was my ideal?”

“When had you ever a good word for the system which makes of woman a dummy and a kill-joy?”

“That has nothing to do with the question,” replied Mallard, preserving a tone of gruff impartiality.  “Have I been faithful to my stewardship?  When I consented to Cecily’s—­to Miss Doran’s passing from Mrs. Elgar’s care to that of Mrs. Lessingham, was I doing right?”

“Mallard, you are a curious instance of the Puritan conscience surviving in a man whose intellect is liberated.  The note of your character, including your artistic character, is this conscientiousness.  Without it, you would have had worldly success long ago.  Without it, you wouldn’t talk nonsense of Cecily Doran.  Had you rather she were co. operating with Mrs. Baske in a scheme to rebuild all the chapels in Lancashire?”