This mood seemed singularly unlike him, as she had known him before. She seized upon the situation.
"Come with us. 'There is more wool and flax in the fields,'" she quoted.
"I can't. I don't see things as you do—I mean I don't see any cure."
She laid her hand on his arm. "I'm going to convert you. Will you attend one more meeting with me?"
"I'll go wherever you say," he answered, with an attempt at gallantry.
"I want to take you with me to show you what the people are doing, and what my work is. You're to ask no questions, but just make yourself ready to go."
Bradley's mind was in a whirl. Ida seemed so different—not at all like that last letter she had written to him. He felt rather than perceived the change in her. She left him at the hotel door and her parting hand-clasp quickened his breath. An indefinite and unreasonable exultation filled his eyes with light. In the privacy of his room he croaked a few notes before he realized that he could not sing. His gloomy sky had let fall a sudden ray of dazzling sunshine.
[XXXI.]
Ida shows Bradley the way out.