SCENE.--A ROOM IN PROFESSOR DUNLOP'S HOUSE. MRS. MOLDWARP AND MRS.
HOLLAND.
MRS. H. I have done my best, but I can't move her an inch.
MRS. M. Poor dear girl! Yet it seems hardly fair to make my health
the lever, when really there is nothing serious the matter.
MRS. H. I can't understand the infatuation. Can there be any love
affair?
MRS. M. Oh no, Phrasie; it is worse!
MRS. H. Worse! Mary, what can you mean?
MRS. M. Yes, it _IS_ worse. I got at the whole truth yesterday.
My poor child's faith has gone! Oh, how could I let her go and let
her mingle among all those people, all unguarded!
MRS. H. Do you mean that this is the real reason that she will not
come home?
MRS. M. Yes; she told me plainly at last that she could not stand
our round of services. They seem empty and obsolete to her, and she
could not feign to attend them or vex us, and cause remarks by
staying away, and of course she neither could nor would teach
anything but secular matters. 'My coming would be nothing but pain
to everybody,' she said.
MRS H. You did not tell me this before my drive with her.
MRS. M. No, I never saw you alone; besides, I thought you would
speak more freely without the knowledge. And, to tell the truth, I
did think it possible that consideration for me might bring my poor
Cissy down to us, and that when once under my father's influence,
all these mists might clear away. But I do not deserve it. I have
been an unfaithful parent, shutting my eyes in feeble indulgence,
and letting her drift into these quicksands.
MRS. H. Fashion and imitation, my dear Mary; it will pass away.
Now, you are not to talk any more.