The doctor presumed it was, though he had not noticed. Gold bracelets were not new to him as they were to Maddy, who continued:
“I wonder if I’ll ever wear a bracelet like that?”
“Would you like to?” the doctor asked, glancing at the small white wrist, around which the dark calico sleeve was closely buttoned, and thinking how much prettier and modest-looking it was than Agnes’ half-bare arms, where the ornaments were flashing.
“Y-e-s,” came hesitatingly from Maddy, who had a strong passion for jewelry. “I guess I would, though grandpa classes all such things with the pomps and vanities which I must renounce when I get to be good.”
“And when will that be?” the doctor asked.
Again Maddy sighed, as she replied: “I cannot tell. I thought so much about it while I was sick, that is, when I could think; but now I’m better, it goes away from me some. I know it is wrong, but I cannot help it. I’ve seen only a bit of pomp and vanity, but I must say that I like what I have seen, and I wish to see more. It’s very wicked, I know,” she kept on, as she met the queer expression of the doctor’s face; “and I know you think me so bad. You are good—a Christian, I suppose?”
There was a strange light in the doctor’s eye as he answered, half sadly: “No, Maddy, I am not what you call a Christian, I have not renounced the pomps and vanities yet.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” and Maddy’s eyes expressed all the sorrow she professed to feel. “You ought to be, now you’ve got so old.”
The doctor colored crimson, and stopping his horse under the dim shadow of a maple in a little hollow, he said:
“I’m not so very old, Maddy; only twenty-five—only ten years older than yourself; and Agnes’ husband was more than twenty years her senior.”