Mary was hardly prepared for this.  Even while she stood with unchanged exterior, she felt grateful to her step-mother for intercepting the complaint about to be made to her father.  She expected some remark or remonstrance from Mrs. Arnold.  But in this she was mistaken.  The latter, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred, turned to Florence, and after a light examination of her dress, said to the housekeeper: 

“This collar is too much soiled; won’t you bring me another?”

“Oh, it’s clean enough,” replied Florence, knitting her brows, and affecting impatience.  But, even as she spoke, the quick, yet gentle hands of her step-mother had removed the collar from her neck.

“Do you think it clean enough now?” said she, as she placed the soiled collar beside a fresh one, which the housekeeper had brought.

“It is rather dirty,” replied Florence, smiling.

And now Mrs. Arnold examined other articles of her dress, and had them changed, re-arranged her hair, and saw that her teeth were properly brushed.  While this was progressing, Mary stood a little apart, a close observer of all that passed.  One thing she did not fail to remark, and that was the gentle firmness of her step-mother, which was in strong contrast with the usual scolding, jerking, and impatience of the housekeeper, as manifested on these occasions.

By the time Florence was ready for school, Mary’s state of mind had undergone considerable change, and she half regretted the exhibition of ill temper and insulting disobedience she had shown.  Yet was she in no way prepared to yield.  To her surprise, after Florence was all ready, her step-mother turned to her and said, in a mild, cheerful voice, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred,

“Have you a particular reason for wishing to wear your new bonnet, this morning, Mary?”

“Yes, ma’am, I have.”  The voice of Mary was changed considerably, and her eyes fell beneath the mild, but penetrating, gaze of her step-mother.

“May I ask you the reason?”

There was a pause of some moments; then Mary replied: 

“I promised one of the girls that I’d wear it.  She asked me to.  She wanted to see it.”

“Did you tell Hannah this?”

“No, ma’am.  It wouldn’t have been any use.  She never hears to reason.”

“But you’ll find me very different, Mary,” said Mrs. Arnold, tenderly.  “I shall ever be ready to hear reason.”

All this was so far from what Mary had anticipated, that her mind was half bewildered.  Her step-mother’s clear sight penetrated to her very thoughts.

Taking her hand, she drew her gently to her side.  An arm was then placed lovingly around her.

“My dear child,”—­it would have been a hard heart, indeed, that could have resisted the influence of that voice, “let us understand each other in the beginning.  You seem to look upon me as an enemy, and yet I wish to be the very best friend you have in the world.  I have come here, not as an exacting and overbearing tyrant, but to seek your good and promote your happiness in every possible way.  I will love you; and may I not expect love in return?  Surely you will not withhold that.”