"Oh!" she wailed through her tears, "if I said all the things I feel like saying about Peter Grimm"—(here it almost sounded as if she ground her teeth)—"well—I shouldn't be a fit clergyman's wife. Not to leave his dear friends a——"
Again her voice was muffled in the folds of the handkerchief, and Colonel Lawton took advantage of the temporary lull to put in a word.
"He wasn't liberal," he said, rising, "but for God's sake, Madam, think what he ought to have done for me after my patiently listening to his plans for twenty years! Mind, I'm not complaining, but what have I got out of it? A Bible!"
"Oh, you've feathered your nest, Colonel!" cried Mrs. Batholommey, recovering somewhat.
"I never came here," retorted Colonel Lawton spitefully, "that you weren't begging!"
"See here, Lawton," the clergyman interrupted truculently, "don't forget who you are speaking to!"
Colonel Lawton waved his hand patronisingly at the clergyman.
"That's all right, Parson. I know who I'm speaking to. We're all in the same boat—one's as good as another—when we're all up against a thing like this. If anything, you two are worse than I am, for you stand for better things. What would your congregation think of either of you if they could look into your hearts this moment and see 'em as they really are?"
"Really are—really are!" cried Mrs. Batholommey. "I'm not ashamed to have any one see my heart as it really is!"
(And Mrs. Batholommey was telling the truth, for she was a good woman at heart, and it was not her fault that she had a human desire for this world's goods for those she loved, for the church, and for herself.)