"But why are you still one?"
"Because a man must live."
"He oughtn't to want to," said Ingeborg with a faint flush, for she had been carefully trained to shyness when it came to pronouncing opinions—the Bishop called it being womanly—"he oughtn't to want to at the cost of his convictions."
"Nevertheless," said the pastor, "he does."
"Yes," said Ingeborg, obliged to admit it; even at Redchester cases were not unknown. "He does," she said, nodding. "Of course he does." And unable not to be at least as honest as the pastor she added: "And so does a woman."
"Naturally," said the pastor.
She looked at him a moment, and then said impulsively, pulling herself a little forward towards him by the window strap—
"This woman does. She's doing it now."
The two ladies exchanged glances and fluttered their fans faster.
"Which woman?" inquired the pastor, whose mastery of English, though ripe, was not nimble.