"I haven't any power over hearts," retorted Fran, gripping her fingers till her hands were little white balls. "Oh, if I only had! I'd get at 'em, if I could—like this…"
She leaped to her feet.
"Am I always to be defied by you?" he exclaimed; "is there to be no end to it? But suppose I put an end to it, myself—tell you that this is no place for you—"
"You shall never say that!" Mrs. Gregory spoke up, distinctly, but not in his loud tones. She dropped her work in some agitation, and drew Fran to her heart. "I have a friend here, Hamilton—one friend—and she must stay."
"Don't you be uneasy, dear one," Fran looked up lovingly into the frightened face. "He won't tell me to go. He won't put an end to it. He won't tell me anything!"
"Listen to me, Lucy," said Gregory, his tone altering, "yes, she must stay—that's settled—she must stay. Of course. But you—why will you refuse what I ask, when for years you were one of the most faithful attendants at the Walnut Street church? I am asking you to go next Sunday because—well, you know how people judge by appearances. I'm not asking it for my sake—of course I know your real character—but go for Miss Grace's sake—go to show her where you stand. Lucy, I told her on the way from choir practice—I promised her that you should be there."
"How is it about church attendance, anyway?" asked Fran, with the air of one who seeks after knowledge. "I thought you went to church for the Lord's sake, and not for Miss Noir's."
"I have given you my answer, Mr. Gregory," said his wife faintly, "but
I am sorry that it should make me seem obstinate—"
He uttered a groan, and left the hall in despair. His gesture said that he must give it up.
Mrs. Gregory folded her work, her face pale and drawn, her lips tremulous. She looked at Fran, and tried to smile. "We must go to rest, now," she said—"if we can."