“Of course,” she went on complacently, drawing down her bonnet-strings, “there are many useful lives of single women. Lives which the world would sadly miss should it please God to take them. Women who live, not for themselves, but for others; who go about the world helping their neighbours with advice and the fruits of their own experience; ever the first to go to the afflicted and to those who are in trouble. They do not receive their reward here, they are not always thanked. The ignorant are sometimes even rude. They have only the knowledge that they are doing good.”
“That must be a satisfaction,” murmured Dora fervently.
“It is, dear; it is. But—you will excuse me, Dora dear, if I say this?—I do not think you are that sort of woman.”
“No,” answered Dora, “I don't think I am.”
“And that is why I have said this to you. Now, don't answer me, dear. Just think about it quietly. I think I have done my duty in telling you what, was on my mind. It is always best, although it is sometimes difficult, or even painful; but then, it is one's duty. Kiss me, dear! Good-night!—good-night!”
And so Sister Cecilia left Dora—mincing away into the gloom of the overhanging trees. And so she leaves these pages. Verily the good have their reward here below in a coat of self-complacency which is as impervious to the buffets of life as to the sarcasm of the worldly.
CHAPTER XXIV. A STAB IN THE DARK
Slander, meanest spawn of Hell; And women's slander is the worst.