"I couldn't, because my father sort of kept a shop; we were always selling drugs. Oh look, Mr. Hales, just out of the corner of your eye, I see Jeanie looking up into his face, and she has just refused oyster patties."
"But do I understand you did all this to—bring them together?"
"Yes. I did so want them to be happy, besides it would make Maud and Mr. Waycott happy."
Mr. Hales was silent. He was considering whether Toney would ever consent herself to say yes to somebody. A dream of a larger sphere of work floated before his mental vision, a dream of a young wife who would devote her money to their work, for in every mission-field money was needed, money and workers. But love seemed very far removed from Toney's ideas at this moment, and so he was silent. Then he asked after the work at the Haven.
"Miss Phipps is doing wonders, and some of my first friends come to-morrow. Two of the avant garde and the deaf man. He has no one to take care of him."
"You will indeed have the blind and the deaf," said Mr. Hales smiling.
"Yes, but I do wish we lived in the days of St. Clare and Sister Ortolana. For when St. Francis sent them to sick people they made the sign of the Cross, and immediately restored them all to health."
"And by their prayers, Toney, I think."
"Yes," answered Toney, "I suppose that's where we fail; but oh, Mr. Hales, I did pray ever so hard about Jeanie and the genius! Do you think—they will make it up? We have come to the cheese and they have said nothing!" Mr. Hales hid a smile.
"Perhaps the music will work the miracle. Don't despair."