“That she is engaged in good works. But in Philadelphia! Who believes in good works in Philadelphia? Besides, she’s acting as a nurse—for payment. That isn’t good works, and it’s disagreeable to lie even about one’s sister.”
“Whatever Katya did,” Robert Grimshaw answered seriously, “she would be engaged in good works. You might pay her a king’s salary, and she’d still do more than she was paid for. That’s what it is to do good works.”
“But if you had taken her on her own terms ...”—Mrs. Langham seemed as if she were pleading with hint—“don’t you think that one day she or you will give in?”
“I think she never will, and she may be right,” he answered. “I think I never shall, and I know I am.”
“But if no one ever knew,” she said “wouldn’t it be the same thing as the other thing?”
“Ellida, dear,” he answered gravely, “wouldn’t that mean a great deal more lying for you—about your sister?”
“But wouldn’t it be much better worth lying about?” she appealed to him. “You are such a dear, she’s such a dear, and I could cry; I want you to come together so much!”
“I don’t think I shall ever give in,” he answered. And then, seeing a real moisture of tears in the eyes that were turned towards him, he said:
“I might, but not till I grow much more tired—oh, much more tired!—than I am.”
And then he added, as briskly as he could, for he spoke habitually in low tones, “I am coming in to supper to-night, tell Paul. How’s Kitty?”