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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

"
"How so, Will?"
"I mean, if one wished to argue selfish--which of course I don't
wish--well, the selfish view would be not to have drawn her out but
rather keep her down a bit."
"Oh, she'd be miserable if she didn't feel to be one of ourselves--and
you always said let's treat her that way."
"I know; and I don't go back on it. I was only stating the case of
selfish policy, for the sake of argument. It's like this. The more
useful you teach her to be, the more we're going to miss her when she
leaves us."
"She'll never leave us."
"Won't she be thinking of taking service in some gentleman's family
when you've perfected her, and rendered her really capable of filling
a situation?"
"Oh, no, she'd never want to go away from Vine-Pits."
"Is that so? Well, of course I regard that as another feather in her
cap. I'm glad to think she's properly devoted to you."
"It isn't me," said Mavis. "It's you she's devoted to. It's been the
same all along. I told you from the first that child just worshiped
you. It's Mr. Dale. Mr. Dale is the cry with Norah always. She looks
on me as very small potatoes," and Mavis laughed. "I don't mind. It's
how I look on myself."
Dale patted his wife's hand, and smiled.


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