“Then I will answer your question. I am not a bit sorry. I am glad I was impertinent and intrusive, especially now that I have apologized and you have accepted the apology. I am very glad I told you you should do something worth while.”
“Even if it were nothing more than to follow Thoph Newcomb's example and sell fish.”
“Yes,” laughingly, “even that. I WAS impertinent, wasn't I! I don't wonder you were offended.”
“I needed the impertinence, I guess. But frankly, Miss Colton, I can't see why you should be glad because I have gone to work. I can't see what difference my working or idling can possibly make to you.”
“Oh, it doesn't, of course—except on general principles. I am a dreadful idler myself; but then, I am a woman, and idleness is a woman's right.”
I thought of Dorinda and of the other housewives of Denboro and how little of that particular “right” they enjoyed; which thought brought again and forcibly to my mind the difference between this girl's life and theirs—and Mother's—and my own.
“A man,” continued Miss Colton, sagely, “should not idle. He should work and work hard—so that the rest of us may be as good for nothing as we please. That is philosophy, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
“You were good enough not to say what sort of philosophy. Thank you. But seriously, Mr. Paine, I am fond of your mother—very fond, considering our short acquaintance—and when I saw her lying there, so patient, and deprived of the little luxuries and conveniences which she needs, and which a little more money might bring to her, it seemed to me . . . Gracious! what a lot of nonsense I am talking! What is the matter with me this afternoon? Do let's change the subject. Have you sold your land yet, Mr. Paine? Of course you haven't! That is more nonsense, isn't it.”
I think she had again spoken merely on the impulse of the moment; doubtless there was no deliberate intention on her part to bring me to a realization of my position, the position I occupied in her thoughts; but if she had had such an intent she could not have done it more effectively. She believed me to have been neglecting Mother, and her interest in my “doing something worth while” was inspired merely because she wished Mother to be supplied with those “luxuries and conveniences” she had mentioned. Well, my question was answered; this was the difference my working or idling made to her. And, for a minute or two, I had been foolish enough to fancy her interested, as a friend, in my success or failure in life. I might have known better. And yet, because of the novelty of the thing, because I had so few friends, I felt a pang of disappointment.