Hadria looked steadily into the flames. They were in the morning-room, where towards night-fall, even in summer, a small fire usually burnt in the grate.
“When I remember what you used to think and what you used to be to us all, in the old days at Dunaghee, I feel bitterly pained at what you are doing, Hadria. You don’t know where it may lead to, and besides it seems so beneath you in every way.”
“Appeals to the conscience!” cried Hadria, “I knew they would begin!”
“You knew what would begin?”
“Appeals, exhortations to forego the sole remaining interest, opportunity, or amusement that is left one! Ah, dear Algitha, I know you mean it kindly and I admire you for speaking out, but I am not going to be cajoled in that way! I am not going to be turned back and set tramping along the stony old road, so long as I can find a pleasanter by-way to loiter in. It sounds bad I know. Our drill affects us to the last, through every fibre. My duty! By what authority do people choose for me my duty? If I can be forced to abide by their decision in the matter, let them be satisfied with their power to coerce me, but let them leave my conscience alone. It does not dance to their piping.”
“But you cannot care for this sort of excitement, Hadria.”
“If I can get nothing else——?”
“Even then, I can’t see what you can find in it to make you willing to sink from your old ideals.”
“Ideals! A woman with ideals is like a drowning creature with a mill-stone round its neck! I have had enough of ideals!”
“It is a sad day to me when I hear you say so, Hadria!” the sister exclaimed.