'I don't think I have ever flirted,' Clare answered, growing suddenly grave; 'but I know I have been foolish enough to wish people to like me and to be interested in me. But you don't know how contemptible all that sort of thing seems to me now. Fancy caring about the opinion of people when you don't care about the people themselves.'
'Well, any one can see he's over head and ears in love with you—you nice, pretty little woman.'
'I hope not,' Clare answered; 'for I am not in the least in love with him.'
'Then don't you think it's a little too bad of you to encourage him as you do—reading his books and all that?'
'I don't know what "all that" may be, but as for the books he lends me, they don't borrow their interest from him. Every book I read seems to draw up a curtain and let new light into my mind. You can't imagine how different everything is to me since I began to read and to try to think. All that I have learned lately is like a new religion to me.' All the flippancy was gone from her voice, and in her eyes shone a new light. 'And I read all I can because I want to understand well enough to teach other people what I feel to be true. And oh, Cora! I do so want to do something to help the poor and show them their position.'
'Yes; I quite agree with you that they ought to know their position and keep in it. The Catechism tells us that, you know. I should think you might employ half a dozen curates. Papa says there are lots out of work.'
'I don't think curates are quite what are wanted. There are curates enough and to spare. Besides,
"The millions suffer still and grieve,
And what can helpers heal,
With old world cures they half believe
For woes they wholly feel?"'