Rhoda made a gesture of impatience.
“It’s a terrible responsibility to do anything at all. But I’m glad”—she laughed scornfully—“that it’s not my task to release them.”
Mary Barfoot mused, a compassionate shadow on her fine face.
“I don’t think we can do without the spirit of that religion,” she said at length—“the essential human spirit. These poor women—one ought to be very tender with them. I don’t like your “ragged regiment” phrase. When I grow old and melancholy, I think I shall devote myself to poor hopeless and purposeless women—try to warm their hearts a little before they go hence.”
“Admirable!” murmured Rhoda, smiling. “But in the meantime they cumber us; we have to fight.”
She threw forward her arms, as though with spear and buckler. Miss Barfoot was smiling at this Palladin attitude when a servant announced two ladies—Mrs. Smallbrook and Miss Haven. They were aunt and niece; the former a tall, ungainly, sharp-featured widow; the latter a sweet-faced, gentle, sensible-looking girl of five-and-twenty.
“I am so glad you are back again,” exclaimed the widow, as she shook hands with Miss Barfoot, speaking in a hard, unsympathetic voice. “I do so want to ask your advice about an interesting girl who has applied to me. I’m afraid her past won’t bear looking into, but most certainly she is a reformed character. Winifred is most favourably impressed with her—”
Miss Haven, the Winifred in question, began to talk apart with Rhoda Nunn.
“I do wish my aunt wouldn’t exaggerate so,” she said in a subdued voice, whilst Mrs. Smallbrook still talked loudly and urgently. “I never said that I was favourably impressed. The girl protests far too much; she has played on aunt’s weaknesses, I fear.”
“But who is she?”