‘O Lily, I hope not,’ said Claude, with a comical air.
‘Well, I know I often am foolish, but not in this,’ said Lily; ‘I do say that mere duty is not lovable.’
‘Say it if you will then,’ said Claude, yawning, ‘only let me finish this sermon.’
Lily set herself to reconsider some of her lines: but presently Emily left the room, Claude looked up, and Lily exclaimed, ‘Now, Claude, let us make a trial of it.’
‘Well,’ said Claude, yawning again, and looking resigned.
‘Think how Eleanor went on telling us of duty, duty, duty—never making allowances—never relaxing her stiff rules about trifles—never unbending from her duenna-like dignity—never showing one spark of enthusiasm—making great sacrifices, but only because she thought them her duty—because it was right—good for herself—only a higher kind of selfishness—not because her feeling prompted her.’
‘Certainly, feeling does not usually prompt people to give up their lovers for the sake of their brothers and sisters.’
‘She did it because it was her duty,’ said Lily, ‘quite as if she did not care.’
‘I wonder whether Frank thought so,’ said Claude.
‘At any rate you will confess that Emily is a much more engaging person,’ said Lily.