Her long and intimate
knowledge of Laetitia made her aware of her moods. She could read the
signs of them. She knew well the meaning of the bonnet which actually
seemed to quiver as though it had a sentience of its own. She knew well
the cause of her aunt's perturbation; the pain which must be caused to
her was perhaps the point of most resistance in herself--she having made
up her mind to her new experience. All she could do would be to try to
reconcile her by the assurance of good intention; by reason, and by
sweetness of manner. When she had kissed her and sat beside her, holding
her hand after her pretty way, she, seeing the elder woman somewhat at a
loss, opened the subject herself:

'You look troubled, auntie! I hope it is nothing serious?' 'It is, my dear! Very serious! Everything is serious to me which
touches you.' 'Me, Auntie!' Hypocrisy is a fine art. 'Yes! yes, Stephen. Oh! my dear child, what is this I hear about your
going to Petty Sessions with your father?' 'Oh, that! Why, Auntie dear, you must not let that trouble you. It is
all right. That is necessary!' 'Necessary!' the old lady's figure grew rigid and her voice was loud and
high. 'Necessary for a young lady to go to a court house. To hear low
people speaking of low crimes. To listen to cases of the most shocking
kind; cases of low immorality; cases of a kind, of a nature of a--a--class
that you are not supposed to know anything about. Really, Stephen! . . .
' She was drawing away her hand in indignation. But Stephen held it
tight, as she said very sweetly:

'That is just it, Auntie. I am so ignorant that I feel I should know
more of the lives of those very people!' Miss Laetitia interrupted:

'Ignorant! Of course you are ignorant. That is what you ought to be. Isn't it what we have all been devoting ourselves to effect ever since
you were born? Read your third chapter of Genesis and remember what came
of eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.' 'I think the Tree of Knowledge must have been an orange tree.' The old
lady looked up, her interest aroused:

'Why?' 'Because ever since Eden other brides have worn its blossom!' Her tone
was demure. Miss Rowly looked sharply at her, but her sharpness softened
off into a smile. 'H'm!' she said, and was silent. Stephen seized the opportunity to put
her own case:

'Auntie dear, you must forgive me! You really must, for my heart is set
on this. I assure you I am not doing it merely to please myself. I have
thought over the whole matter. Father has always wished me to be in a
position--a position of knowledge and experience--to manage Normanstand
if I should ever succeed him. From the earliest time I can remember he
has always kept this before me, and though of course I did not at first
understand what it meant, I have seemed in the last few years to know
better. Accordingly I learned all sorts of things under his care, and
sometimes even without his help. I have studied the estate map, and I
have been over the estate books and read some of the leases and all such
matters which they deal with in the estate office. This only told me the
bones of the thing. I wanted to know more of our people; and so I made a
point of going now and again to each house that we own. Of seeing the
people and talking with them familiarly; as familiarly as they would let
me, and indeed so far as was possible considering my position. For,
Auntie dear, I soon began to learn--to learn in a way there was no
mistaking--what my position is. And so I want to get to know more of
their ordinary lives; the darker as well as the lighter side. I would
like to do them good. I can see how my dear daddy has always been a sort
of power to help them, and I would like to carry on his work; to carry it
further if I may. But I must know.' Her aunt had been listening with growing interest, and with growing
respect too, for she realised the intense earnestness which lay behind
the girl's words and her immediate purpose. Her voice and manner were
both softened:

'But, my dear, surely it is not necessary to go into the Court to know
these things. The results of each case become known.' 'That is just it, Auntie,' she answered quickly. 'The magistrates have
to hear the two sides of the case before even they can make up their
minds. I want to hear both sides, too! If people are guilty, I want to
know the cause of their guilt. If they are innocent, I want to know what
the circumstances can be which make innocence look like guilt. In my own
daily life I may be in the way of just such judgments; and surely it is
only right that judgment should be just!' Again she paused; there rose before her mind that conversation in the
churchyard when Harold had said that it was difficult for women to be
just. Miss Rowly reflected too. She was becoming convinced that in principle
the girl was right. But the details were repugnant as ever to her;
concentrating her mind on the point where she felt the ground firm under
her, she made her objection:

'But, Stephen dear, there are so many cases that are sordid and painful!' 'The more need to know of sordid things; if sordidness plays so important
a part in the tragedy of their lives!' 'But there are cases which are not within a woman's province. Cases that
touch sin . . . ' 'What kind of sin do you mean? Surely all wrong-doing is sin!' The old
lady was embarrassed. Not by the fact, for she had been for too many
years the mistress of a great household not to know something of the
subject on which she spoke, but that she had to speak of such a matter to
the young girl whom she so loved. 'The sin, my dear, of . . . of woman's wrong-doing . . . as woman . . . of motherhood, without marriage!' All Stephen's nature seemed to rise in
revolt. 'Why, Auntie,' she spoke out at once, 'you yourself show the want of the
very experience I look for!' 'How? what?' asked the old lady amazed and bristling. Stephen took her
hand and held it affectionately as she spoke:

'You speak of a woman's wrong-doing, when surely it is a man's as well. There does not seem to be blame for him who is the more guilty. Only for
poor women! . . . And, Auntie dear, it is such poor women that I should
like to help . . . Not when it is too late, but before! But how can I
help unless I know? Good girls cannot tell me, and good women won't! You
yourself, Auntie, didn't want to speak on the subject; even to me!' 'But, my dear child, these are not things for unmarried women. I never
speak of them myself except with matrons.' Stephen's answer flashed out
like a sword; and cut like one:

'And yet you are unmarried! Oh, Auntie dear, I did not and I do not mean
to be offensive, or to hurt you in any way. I know, dear, your goodness
and your kindness to all. But you limit yourself to one side!' The
elder lady interrupted:

'How do you mean? one side! which side?' 'The punishment side. I want to know the cause of that which brings the
punishment. There surely is some cross road in a girl's life where the
ways part.