"Tell her," said my father, and then, while my heart thumped in my bosom
and the Reverend Mother stroked my hand to compose me, the Bishop gave a
brief explanation.
The time had not come when it would be prudent to be more definite, but
he might say that Mr. O'Neill was trying to arrange a happy and enviable
future for his daughter, and therefore he wished her to return home to
prepare for it.
"Does that mean marriage?" said the Reverend Mother.
"It may be so. I am not quite prepared to . . ."
"And that a husband has already been found for her?"
"That too perhaps. I will not say . . ."
"Monsignor," said the Reverend Mother, sitting up with dignity "is that
fair?"
"Fair?"
"Is it fair that after ten years in which her father has done nothing
for her, he should determine what her life is to be, without regard to
her wish and will?"
I raised my eyes and saw that the Bishop looked aghast.
"Reverend Mother, you surprise me," he said. "Since when has a father
ceased to be the natural guardian of his child? Has he not been so since
the beginning of the world? Doesn't the Church itself build its laws on
that foundation?"
"Does it?" said the Reverend Mother shortly.
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