'I went into a chapel once,' she pursued, looking gravely at me, 'and there was a revival going on, I was told. That is what led me in there—I wanted to see a revival! After the sermon was over, an old white-haired man came stumbling into the seat where I was, and sat down beside me. "Young pusson," he said, "do you want to be convarted?" "What does it feel like?" I asked. He rose up, and stood swelling out his waistcoat visibly. "It feels as if earth can't contain yer at times, and 'even's only big enough for yer." "Thank you," I said; "I shouldn't care to feel that size. Earth is big enough for me at present," and I walked out.'
A burst of laughter from behind announced that the gentlemen had entered the room. Kenneth came up to us, and planted himself on the hearthrug in front of us.
'Are you treating Goody Two-Shoes to one of your stories?' he asked.
'We are having a very serious conversation,' said Miss Willoughby, in her clear, loud voice, 'and do not wish to be interrupted. Now, Miss Thorn, is your experience like that of the old chapel saint? I have always heard that the godly were very big in their own estimation, but never quite so big as that I How big do you feel? Tell us. I have a fancy, if I were to try to attain to it, that it would be the old fable of the toad and the ox again being enacted. What is your opinion?'
'It is not a subject for jesting,' I said gravely; and I rose from my seat to move away. She laughingly caught hold of both my hands and detained me.
'Now you are my prisoner, and I shall not let you escape till you have answered a few questions. I have been doing my best to become acquainted with you, but you listen and reply in monosyllables, which is most unsociable. You leave me to do all the talking, and I want to hear your side of the question. Is she always so silent, Kenneth?'
'Silence marks her displeasure,' Kenneth replied, laughing.
'I don't like sulky natures,' Miss Willoughby went on provokingly, without giving me time to speak. 'I don't think she is shy, and I have said nothing to displease her. My object has been to become friends with her, but I'm afraid she thinks me too unworthy of her friendship. Now, Miss Thorn,—what a baby face it is, to be sure!—look up and speak. You don't seem so glib on the subject as you ought to be. What is "conversion"? Enlighten us.'
I looked up at my tormentor. 'You will find the best definition of it in the dictionary, if you are anxious to know,' I said.
'That is evading my question. I begin to think you have a good deal of cowardice in your composition. You are afraid to show your colours. Now I am going to ask you a straightforward question, and I expect a straightforward reply. Are you converted?'