“It is all very petty, my child,” said the padre. “Life is made up of bigger things; the little ones should be ignored.”
To which Nora replied: “To a woman, the little things are everything; they are the daily routine, the expected, the necessary things. What you call the big things in life are accidents. And, oh! I have pride.” She folded her arms across her heaving bosom; for the padre’s directness this morning had stirred her deeply.
“Wilfulness is called pride by some; and stubbornness. But you know, as well as I do, that yours is resentment, anger, indignation. Yes, you have pride, but it has not been brought into this affair. Pride is that within which prevents us from doing mean or sordid acts; and you could not do one or the other if you tried. The sentiment in you which should be developed....”
“Is mercy?”
“No; justice, the patience to weigh the right or wrong of a thing.”
“Padre, I have eyes, eyes; I saw.”
He twirled the middle button of his cassock. “The eyes see and the ears hear, but these are only witnesses, laying the matter before the court of the last resort, which is the mind. It is there we sift the evidence.”
“He had the insufferable insolence to order Herr Rosen to leave,” going around the barrier of his well-ordered logic.
“Ah! Now, how could he send away Herr Rosen if that gentleman had really preferred to stay?”
Nora looked confused.