Marcia Lowe was bending forward now, her face radiant and inspired—she looked young, lovely and compassionate.
"I—I—don't follow you, ma'am." Poor Martin was caught in the toils of the enthusiast.
"Then listen. I have studied and—conquered to a certain extent—a great and noble help for humanity—but I am hampered in my work because I am a woman. Oh! no one—no man can understand how terrible it is for us women to look beyond the man and woman part of life and see human beings needing us, crying out to us, and for us, to realize that often we might help, in our own way best of all—if only something, over which we have no control, did not bar us. You see, men have no right to deprive human beings of any assistance the world can give. If we women tell men of our hopes and our beliefs, they accept or decline as they think best—and so much is lost! Why, I have been pleading with The Forge doctor ever since I came, to work with me in doing what I long to do, and he will not—he laughs! I am not rich enough or important enough to bring a big doctor from my home to do this thing for you, all that I could do alone. So here I stand with, I solemnly believe, a precious gift and I—I—cannot give it to you because—you won't trust a woman!"
Marcia Lowe was talking far and beyond Morley; he stared bewildered at her, but something within himself was reaching out and touching, with soul-intensity, the tragic appeal from the little woman opposite.
"Uncle Theodore Starr came here because he loved his kind and felt that you all needed him most. Because you had no choice, he believed you would accept him. Can you remember how he worked among you? served you and died for you?"
"I—do, mum!" An old sense of gratitude gave force to the words.
"Well, I feel as he did, only I want to mend your poor, sick bodies; make you strong enough to want to help yourselves like men and women! I want you to know that you have souls."
But now Martin was lost again. The stare settled on his face and only the hypnotism of the woman across the hearth guided him. Marcia Lowe saw this, and grew desperate.
"Oh! dear, what shall I do?" she cried helplessly. "Can I say anything that will make you understand? The thing I have is safe and sure. It might go wrong with you—only might—but I want, I must have, your consent. Just suppose it did go wrong with you, but that you knew it would help hundreds of others—would you be willing to try?"
Morley did not attempt an answer.