“I only ask my own,” said Mr. Plowden, sulkily.
“For shame! for shame! and you a minister of God’s Word! And you too, Florence! Oh, now I can read your heart, and see the bad thoughts looking from your eyes!”
Florence for a moment was abashed, and turned her face aside.
“And you, Eva—how can you become a party to such a shameful thing? You, a good girl, to sell yourself away from dear Ernest to such a man as that;” and again she pointed contemptuously at Mr. Plowden.
“Oh, don’t, Dorothy, don’t; it is my duty. You don’t understand.”
“Yes, Eva, I do understand. I understand that it is your duty to drown yourself before you do such a thing, I am a woman as well as you, and though I am not beautiful, I have a heart and a conscience, and I understand only too well.”
“You will be lost if you drown yourself—I mean it is very wicked,” said Mr. Plowden to Eva, suddenly assuming his clerical character as most likely to be effective. The suggestion alarmed him. He had bargained for a live Eva.
“Yes, Mr. Plowden,” went on Dorothy, “you are right: it would be wicked, but not so wicked as to marry you. God gave us women our lives, but He put a spirit in our hearts which tells us that we should rather throw them away than suffer ourselves to be degraded. Oh, Eva, tell me that you will not do this shameful thing. No, do not whisper to her, Florence.”
“Dorothy, Dorothy,” said Eva, rising and wringing her hands, “it is all useless. Do not break my heart with your cruel words. I must marry him. I have fallen into the power of people who do not know what mercy is.”
“Thank you,” said Florence.