"I don't see how anybody can be too good," I said, and I spoke timidly, for I thought Mr. Russell wonderfully clever.
"There are different kinds of goodness," says Mr. Russell; and that was a new notion to me. I couldn't think what he meant; for, to be sure, the Bible don't tell of two kinds.
"I should think your sister's was the right kind," I said.
"Well—yes," says he. "I didn't mean a 'wrong' kind, you see, when I spoke of different kinds. I only meant that people might be good in too exalted a way for everyday life. That is Mary's tendency, perhaps. Poor dear Mary!" He sighed again, and then he reached out his cup, saying, "Might he have a little more sugar?"
I couldn't help a sort of amused feeling at his being able to think about sugar; and yet I was half vexed with myself for being amused. After all, it takes a lot of trouble to bring a man to such a pass that he don't care what he eats or drinks. Women mostly come to that point sooner; and yet not women of the weak and faddy sort; for the worse trouble they are in, the more faddy and complaining they get.
Mr. Russell helped himself to the sugar, and then he stirred his tea round and round with the spoon, till it got to look like a whirlpool with a hole in the middle. Presently he sipped it again, and told me it was "perfect," and after that he went on with what he was saying.
"Yes, Mary is a most excellent creature—too good for common life. One can't help admiring, of course—but still—" and he shook his head, as much as to say that it wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all!
"Perhaps it would be better if everybody was the same," I said, thinking how father would speak and how mother would look in my place. I felt that there was something out of joint in what he was saying; and yet I did not want to feel anything that was not in his favour.
"The world would be at a standstill," says he. "People must have common sense if they are to get on in life."
I didn't know what he meant then; I know better now. He meant that we had to serve Mammon as well as God; and that, in matters of business, Mammon must come first, God second. He would not have put it so plain as that, of course, but it came to nothing less. Yes, and it always does end in that, when we try to do what our Lord said couldn't be done—when we try to serve Mammon and God too. Mr. Russell's "Mammon" was "getting on in life," and making money. He wouldn't put the service of God before that, and his sister would. That was why he called her "too good" for common life. But perhaps I ought not to say all this now. Perhaps I ought to leave it to be found out later.