“I don’t care about this house-to-house visitation,” he remarked.
“It is only once a year that we come,” the girl pleaded, “and we only go to people who we know can afford to help us, and who we believe can appreciate our work. You know so much of the darker side of New York, Mr. Quest. Wherever you go you must find signs of our labours. Even if I put on one side, for a moment, the bare religious question, think how much we do for the good and the welfare of the poor people.”
Quest nodded.
“That’s all right,” he admitted. “You reach the outcasts all right. There’s many a one you save whom you had better leave to die, but here and there, no doubt, you set one of them on their legs again who’s had bad luck. Very well, Miss Quigg. You shall have a donation. I am busy to-day, but call at the same hour to-morrow and my secretary here shall have a cheque ready for you.”
The girl smiled her gratitude.
“You are very kind indeed, Mr. Quest,” she said simply. “I will be here.”
The Professor laid his hand upon her arm as she passed. He had been watching her with curious intentness.
“Young lady,” he observed, “you seem very much in earnest about your work.”
“It is only the people in earnest, sir,” she answered, “who can do any good in the world. My work is worth being in earnest about.”
“Will you forgive an old man’s question?” the Professor continued. “I am one of the men of the world who are in earnest. My life is dedicated to science. Science is at once my religion and my life. It seems to me that you and I have something in common. You, too, move in the unusual ways. Your life is dedicated to doing good amongst the unworthy of your sex. Whether my brain approves of your efforts or not, you compel my admiration—my most respectful admiration. May I, too, be permitted?”