“Well,” said Mr. Fairfax when Betty paused, “I understand that you repent, and you do not repent, and that you are no longer a Speciality.”
“That is the case, sir.”
“Can you not take me further into your confidence?”
“There is no use,” said Betty, shaking her head.
“I am not surprised, Miss Vivian, that you are unhappy.”
“I am accustomed to that,” said Betty.
“May I ask what you have come to see me about?”
“I wanted to know this: ought I, or ought I not, being unrepentant of my sin, to come to the chapel with the other girls, to kneel with them, to pray with them, and to listen to your words?”
“I must leave that to yourself. If your conscience says, ‘Come,’ it is not for me to turn you out. But it is a very dangerous thing to trifle with conscience. Of course you know that. I can see, too, that you are peculiarly sensitive. Forgive me, but I have often noticed your face, and with extreme interest. You have good abilities, and a great future before you in the upward direction—that is, if you choose. Although you won’t take me into your confidence, I am well aware that the present is a turning-point in your career. You must at least know that I, as a clergyman, would not repeat to any one a word of what you say to me. Can you not trust me?”
“No, no; it is too painful!” said Betty. “I see that, in your heart of hearts, you think that I—I ought not—I ought not to come to chapel. I am indeed outcast!”