“Oh, Mr. North doesn't care for music, and I'm not inclined to sing. Singing seems out of place here.”
“Nonsense,” said Frere. “Why should it be more out of place here than anywhere else?”
“Mrs. Frere means that mirth is in a manner unsuited to these melancholy surroundings,” said North, out of his keener sense.
“Melancholy surroundings!” cried Frere, staring in turn at the piano, the ottomans, and the looking-glass. “Well, the house isn't as good as the one in Sydney, but it's comfortable enough.”
“You don't understand me, Maurice,” said Sylvia. “This place is very gloomy to me. The thought of the unhappy men who are ironed and chained all about us makes me miserable.”
“What stuff!” said Frere, now thoroughly roused. “The ruffians deserve all they get and more. Why should you make yourself wretched about them?”
“Poor men! How do we know the strength of their temptation, the bitterness of their repentance?”
“Evil-doers earn their punishment,” says North, in a hard voice, and taking up a book suddenly. “They must learn to bear it. No repentance can undo their sin.”
“But surely there is mercy for the worst of evil-doers,” urged Sylvia, gently.
North seemed disinclined or unable to reply, and nodded only.