The face of Lucia Catherwood altered. It expressed a singular tenderness as she looked at Miss Grayson, so soft, so small and so gray.
"Charlotte," she said, "I wish that I were as good as you. You are never excited, passionate or angry. You always know what you ought to do and you always do it."
Miss Grayson looked up again and her eyes suddenly sparkled.
"You make a mistake, a great mistake, Lucia," she said. "It is only the people who do wrong now and then who are really good. Those of us who do right all the time merely keep in that road because we cannot get out of it. I think it's a lack of temperament—there's no variety about us. And oh, Lucia, I tell you honestly, I get so tired of keeping forever in the straight and narrow path merely because it's easiest for me to walk that way. I don't mean to be sacrilegious, but I think that all the rejoicing in Heaven over the hundredth man who has sinned and repented was not because he had behaved well at last, but because he was so much more interesting than all the other ninety-nine put together. I wish I had your temper and impulses, Lucia, that I might flash into anger now and then and do something rash—something that I should be sorry for later on, but which in my secret heart I should be glad I had done. Oh, I get so tired of being just a plain, goody-goody little woman who will always do the right thing in the most uninteresting way; a woman about whom there is no delightful uncertainty; a woman on whom you can always reckon just as you would on the figure 4 or 6 or any other number in mathematics. I am like such a figure—a fixed quantity, and that is why I, Charlotte Grayson, am just a plain little old maid."
She had risen in her vehemence, but when she finished she sank back into her chair and a faint, delicate pink bloomed in her face. Miss Charlotte Grayson was blushing! Lucia was silent, regarding her. She felt a great flood of tenderness for this prim, quiet little woman who had, for a rare and fleeting moment, burst her shell. Miss Grayson had always accepted so calmly and so quietly the life which seemed to have been decreed for her that it never before occurred to Lucia to suppose any tempestuous feelings could rise in that breast; but she was a woman like herself, and the tie that bound them, already strong, suddenly grew stronger.
"Charlotte," she said, placing her hand gently upon the old maid's shoulder, "it seems to me sometimes that God has not been quite fair to women. He gives us too little defense against our own hearts."
"Best discard them entirely," said Miss Grayson briskly. "Come, Lucia, you promised to help me with my sewing."