“Can they buy a quiet conscience?”
Herbert shrank back. “I think you exaggerate the matter,” he said hastily. “I cannot see that the conscience is called into question.”
“I can,” said Elsie decidedly. “I had a heritage left me, here,” and she placed her hand upon her breast as she spoke, “and daily and hourly it tells me that if I selfishly lock up my God-given sympathies and turn away from the impulses of my better nature, I am committing a crime whose punishment is no less severe because eternity shall judge it.”
“Elsie! Elsie!” cried Herbert, awed into a great fear by the solemnity of her words, “you shall be the dispenser of charity as bounteous as you desire.”
“And yet be forbidden to soil my hands by contact with poverty or crime. No, we have too much of that sort of charity already. Besides, do you not see, Herbert, that there could be no happiness for us holding such opposite views as we do? Marriage is too holy to admit a division of sentiment and endeavor between husband and wife. Ah, I have been so weak to permit a love that I knew could only bring disaster!”
“It is only a few moments ago that you assured me you loved me for all time.”
“I do.”
“And yet you can throw me over for a disordered society that never will appreciate an iota of your sacrifice.”
“You are mistaken! The sacrifice appeases a deeper and holier feeling.”
“You have a very strange way of reasoning, it seems to me,” said Herbert bitterly. “You rob Peter to pay Paul with surprising alacrity.”