But though Edward had made much progress, and gained three prizes, his
moral training had been little attended to. He was more tyrannical than
ever, both to his mother and Maggie. It was a drawn battle between him and
Nancy, and they kept aloof from each other as much as possible. Maggie fell
into her old humble way of submitting to his will, as long as it did not go
against her conscience; but that, being daily enlightened by her habits of
pious aspiring thought, would not allow her to be so utterly obedient as
formerly. In addition to his imperiousness, he had learned to affix the
idea of cleverness to various artifices and subterfuges which utterly
revolted her by their meanness.

"You are so set up, by being intimate with Erminia, that you won't do a
thing I tell you; you are as selfish and self-willed as"--he made a pause.
Maggie was ready to cry.

"I will do anything, Ned, that is right."

"Well! and I tell you this is right."

"How can it be?" said she, sadly, almost wishing to be convinced.

"How--why it is, and that's enough for you. You must always have a reason
for everything now. You are not half so nice as you were. Unless one chops
logic with you, and convinces you by a long argument, you'll do nothing. Be
obedient, I tell you. That is what a woman has to be."

"I could be obedient to some people, without knowing their reasons, even
though they told me to do silly things," said Maggie, half to herself.

"I should like to know to whom," said Edward, scornfully.