Nora had suddenly collapsed into silence in the middle of a sentence. The nervous strain had been too much for her, and she could not think of anything more to say, just at that moment.
She only replied to her companion's remark, in a dreamy way—"Yes, it's a pity when such things have to be."
Harold Pomeroy went on talking, but she scarcely listened to him. She was bracing herself for the latter part of her task, not less difficult than the first. If her companion was puzzled by her sudden change of manner, he was still more surprised at her next speech.
"Mr. Pomeroy," she began, in a voice low, and somewhat tremulous, from the effort it cost her to speak at all; "do you remember an old Bible story about a rich man who had great flocks and herds, yet sent and took away a poor man's lamb that he prized very much; and what was said about him?"
"Yes, I believe I have some such vague recollection," he replied.
"Well, then," she continued, "suppose that you were a poor young man who had to work at some steady, monotonous, uninteresting labor from early morning till late at night. And suppose Kitty were a poor girl slaving away for so many long hours a day——"
"What a horrible supposition!" he broke in; but she went on without noticing the interruption.
"And, suppose that some rich young man, like you, for instance, who was engaged to a rich and beautiful young lady, were to try to come between you and Kitty, and flatter her into thinking she was too good for you——"
"Perhaps she'd be about right!" he muttered.
"And break up, perhaps, her and your happiness for life. How do you think you'd like it?"