“Oh! oh! oh!” cried No. 3, flushing with surprise and admiration, “how beautiful! See, your reverence, here is mine—'Life of an Unfortunate Girl.'”
“Yes, I see it. And pray what do you mean by an unfortunate girl?”
“Oh, sir! you know.”
“Unfortunate means one whom we are bound to respect as well as pity. Has that been your character?”
“No,” was the mournful reply.
“Then why print a falsehood? Falsehoods lurk in adjectives as well as substantives. Misapplied terms are strongholds of self-deception. Nobody says, 'I am unfortunate, therefore I abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes.' Such words are fortifications to keep self-knowledge and its brother repentance from the soul.”
“Oh, sir! what am I to call myself?” She hid her face in her hands.
“My dear, you told me a week ago you were—a penitent.”
“So I am, indeed I am. Sir, may I change it to 'a penitent girl?'”
“You would make me very happy if you could do it with truth.”