“That was before he renegaded,” said the Countess.
Harriet bluntly rejoined: “You will leave that house a Roman Catholic.”
“Now you have spoken,” said the Countess, pluming. “Now let me explain myself. My dear, I have fought worldly battles too long and too earnestly. I am rightly punished. I do but quote Herbert Duffian’s own words: he is no flatterer though you say he has such soft fingers. I am now engaged in a spiritual contest. He is very wealthy! I have resolved to rescue back to our Church what can benefit the flock of which we form a portion, so exceedingly!”
At this revelation of the Countess’s spiritual contest, Mrs. Andrew shook a worldly head.
“You have no chance with men there, Louisa.”
“My Harriet complains of female weakness!”
“Yes. We are strong in our own element, Louisa. Don’t be tempted out of it.”
Sublime, the Countess rose:
“Element! am I to be confined to one? What but spiritual solaces could assist me to live, after the degradations I have had heaped on me? I renounce the world. I turn my sight to realms where caste is unknown. I feel no shame there of being a tailor’s daughter. You see, I can bring my tongue to name the thing in its actuality. Once, that member would have blistered. Confess to me that, in spite of your children, you are tempted to howl at the idea of Lymport—”
The Countess paused, and like a lady about to fire off a gun, appeared to tighten her nerves, crying out rapidly: