Mrs. McBride was a shrewd woman, full of American quickness, lightning
deduction, and a phenomenal insight into character. Theodora seemed to
her to be too tender a flower for this world of east wind. She felt sure
she only thought good of every one, and how could one get on in life if
one took that view habitually! The appallingly hard knocks fate would
give one if one was so trusting! But as the drive went on that gentle
something that seemed to emanate from Theodora, the something of pure
sweetness and light, affected her, too, as it affected other people. She
felt she was looking into a deep pool of crystal water, so deep that she
could see no bottom or fathom the distance of it, but which reflected in
brilliant blue God's sky and the sun.

"And she is by no means stupid," the widow summed up to herself. "Her
mind is as bright as an American's! And she is just too pretty and sweet
to be eaten up by these wolves of men she will meet in England, with
that unromantic, unattractive husband along. I must do what I can for
her."

By the time she had dropped Theodora at her hotel the situation was
quite clear. Of course the girl had been sacrificed to Josiah Brown; she
was sound asleep in the great forces of life; she was bound to be
hideously unhappy, and it was all an abominable shame, and ought to have
been prevented.

But Mrs. McBride never cried over spilled milk.

"If I decide to marry her father," she thought, as she drove off, "I
shall keep my eye on her, and meanwhile I can make her life smile a
little perhaps!"