"We should never have consented to receive her, father. It was all done in such a hurry; I think we were the victims of our own good nature. Who is she? Where does she come from? A gipsy girl, perhaps, and one who dislikes our country, and us. It was sentiment upon Mr. Faber's part—altruism at our expense. Of course, he talks of taking her ultimately to New York. But is he likely to do that? Do you believe that?"
"I must believe it or say that he has not written the truth. There was a letter from him this morning—you will find it on my study table. He wishes us to keep her at least for a time and until he can make some provision for her in America. It will be possible for him to sail to-day, he thinks, if Sir Jules Achon arrives from Cherbourg. He appears to want to see Sir Jules very much before he goes."
"Then Maryska remains, father?"
"For the present, yes."
"And that is the last we are to see of our friend? Well, our castles come tumbling down, at any rate. We have been his builders, but he leaves us a wretched house. I think you would be wiser to go to Yonkers."
"I think so, too—when you and Harry are married."
"Need Harry and I enter into the matter? I am thinking all the time of the way these clever men make less clever people their dupes. Sometimes I say that what I need to make a success of my life is the help of a man of genius. I felt it every day when Mr. Faber was here. It was to stand upon a rock and laugh when the sea flowed all around. And you need it too, father. Think of all that good men might do in the world if they had brains such as his behind them. He preaches all his sermons from that text. Brains will save the people, the country, even religion. I am sick of sentiment; it accomplishes nothing. We have meetings and speakers, and conferences and discussions, and the world just goes laughing by, like a boy who passes the open door of a schoolroom. What have we done since we left America? How have we helped our great cause? You know what the answer must be. We have done less than nothing, while a stranger has made our people think and learn."
He was much taken aback by her outburst, and a little at a loss. A man of high ideals, he knew how hopeless was the task of uplifting the people, and yet hope and endeavour were the breath of life to him.
"Oh," he said, "I won't say that we have done nothing. This dreadful winter is just what has been needed to make the people think. A reaction will follow, and we shall go to them with a message of peace they cannot resist. I am sure the truth will come home to all now. It will be easy to say that God Almighty did not create mankind for the shambles. What astonishes me, Gabrielle, is that in this twentieth century it should be necessary to preach such a doctrine at all. When you consider what universal peace would mean in every home in the country, what it would do for the poorest, how it would help the children, I am altogether at a loss. The thing is an incredible anachronism giving the lie direct to Christ and His gospel. And we are powerless to cope with it; we seem to address those whose hearts are of stone."
"Then why do you address them? That is just what Mr. Faber asks. Why not turn to those who can lead the people? If the great names of Europe and America were behind you, the millennium would come. I myself would hope more from two such men as Sir Jules Achon and John Faber than from all the sermons in the world. But I have become a very practical person, father. I think sometimes I am growing terribly masculine."