“With the men, work to have them share your problems—work to share theirs. Do not be discouraged by repeated failure. Defeat should not exist for the spirit. And, oh, the true way—you pointed it out in your first words. You have the training of the children. Their ideals are yours to make. A generation is a short—”
His face answered more and more the eager intentness of her own. He raised his hand with a gesture that underlined his next words: “But remember always, always, what Amiel says, that a child will divine what we really worship, and that no teaching will avail with him if we teach in contradiction to what we are.”
They were interrupted by a loud hail from the stairs. Madeleine Lowder’s handsome head showed through the balustrade, and back of her were other amused faces.
“I started to look you up, Lydia,” she said, advancing upon them hilariously, “I thought maybe you weren’t feeling well, and then I saw you monopolizing the lion so that everybody was wondering where in the world he was, and you were so wrapped up that you never even noticed me, so I motioned the others to see what a demure little cat of a sister I have.”
She stood before them at the end of this facetious explanation, laughing, frank, sure of herself, and as beautiful as a great rosy flower.
“Your sister,” said the lecturer incredulously to Lydia.
“My husband’s sister,” Lydia corrected him, and presented the newcomer in one phrase.
“Isn’t she a sly, designing creature, Mr. Buisine?” cried Madeleine, in her usual state of hearty enjoyment of her situation. “You haven’t met many as up-and-coming, have you now?”
“I do not know the meaning of your adjective, Mademoiselle; but it is true that I have met few like your brother’s wife.”
“I’m not Mademoiselle!” Madeleine was greatly amused at the idea.