"I should think so, after glancing at his article. What was his object, then, my dear?"
"Well, that's simple, I should think. He went to the Works, and thought that conditions there were bad, and being what would be called the reformer type, I suppose he thought it his duty to tell people so, so that the conditions would be corrected--"
"Well, really, Hen! Don't you know, if conditions were bad at the Works,--whatever that may mean, and I for one have never felt that working-girls were entitled to Turkish baths and manicures,--don't you know papa would correct what was wrong without being called a homicide by--by eccentric medical men?"
Hen hesitated, and then began: "Well, business is hard, Cally, and men in business--"
"Why doesn't your friend try attending to his own, then, the medical business, instead of interfering all the time with other people's?"
The Cooney answered quite easily: "You see, he'd say this was his business." Then she smiled a little, thoughtfully, and said: "He'd say, Cally, that the world's all one family, and everybody's responsible for everybody else. The cute part about it is that he absolutely believes it.... And it worries him that people aren't as happy as they ought to be, the poor because they haven't anything to be happy with, the rich because they have too much. He and Mr. Beirne argue about that for hours. He's absolutely the only person I ever saw who really doesn't care for--"
"Why, my dear!" interrupted Carlisle, smiling rather dangerously. "You'll make me believe that you admire the man immensely."
Hen laughed, and replied enigmatically: "Well, it's nice to feel free to admire what's admirable, don't you think so?"
"You do admire him very much?"
"I think he's perfectly precious," said Henrietta Cooney.