“Is that one of your children?”
“That is my eldest boy,” said the vicar. “Come and speak to Miss Barnicroft, Ambrose.”
“Ah!” said Miss Barnicroft with a coldly disapproving look as Ambrose shyly advanced, “I don’t like boys.”
“How is that?” asked Mr Hawthorne.
“They grow to be men,” she answered with a shudder, “and even while they are young there is no barbarity of which they are not capable. I could believe anything of a boy.”
“Dear me!” said the vicar, smiling, “that is very severe; I hope all boys are not so bad as that!”
“It is greatly, I believe, owing to the unnatural manner in which they are fed,” she continued, turning away from Ambrose. “Most wickedness comes from eating meat. Violence, and cruelty, and bloodthirstiness would vanish if men lived on fruit and vegetables.”
“Do you think so?” said the vicar mildly; “but women are not as a rule cruel and bloodthirsty, and they eat meat too.”
“Women are naturally better than men, and it does not do them so much harm; but they would be still better without it. It makes them selfish and gross,” said Miss Barnicroft.
Mr Hawthorne never encouraged his visitor to argue long on this subject, which somehow crept into all her conversations, however far-away from it they might begin. So he merely bowed his head in silence.