"Miss Marsden," said Hemstead, earnestly, as they were driving up the avenue to the Marchmont residence, "when you stood beside me this morning I pointed you to a world without, whose strange and marvellous beauty excited your wonder and delight. You seem to me on the border of a more beautiful world,—the spiritual world of love and faith in God. If I could only show you that, I should esteem it the greatest joy of my life."
"That is a world I do not understand; nor am I worthy to enter it," she said in sudden bitterness, "and I fear I never shall be; and yet I thank you all the same."
A few moments later they were sitting round the parlor fire, recounting the experiences of the evening.
Before entering the house Lottie had said, "Let us say nothing about runaway horses to aunt and uncle, or they may veto future drives."
To Hemstead's surprise Lottie seemed in one of her gayest moods, and he was reluctantly compelled to think her sketch of the people at the donation a little satirical and unfeeling. But while she was portraying Hemstead as the hero of the occasion, she had the tact to make no reference to Harcourt. But he generously stated the whole case, adding, with a light laugh, that he had learned once for all that coaxing and wheedling were better than driving.
"Appealing to their better natures, you mean," said Hemstead.
"Yes, that is the way you would put it."
"I think it's the true way."
"Perhaps it is. Human nature has its good side if one can only find it, but I'm satisfied that it won't drive well."
"I think work among such people the most hopeless and discouraging thing in the world," said Mrs. Marchmont, yawning.