"Against what—or whom?" she asked, wondering.
The answer came unflinchingly:
"Against our Lord—and His Church."
The revolt within showed itself in her shining eyes.
"Ought we to set up these standards for other people? And they don't ask to stay here!—at least she doesn't. That's what Mrs. Betts came to say to me—"
Marcia threw herself into an eager recapitulation of Mrs. Betts's arguments. Her innocence, her ignorance, her power of feeling, and her instinctive claim to have her own way and get what she wanted,—were all perceptible in her pleading. Newbury listened with discomfort and distress—not yielding, however, by the fraction of an inch, as she soon discovered. When she came to an abrupt pause, the wounded pride of a foreseen rebuff dawning in her face, Newbury broke out:
"Darling, I can't discuss it with you! Won't you trust me—Won't you believe that neither father nor I would cause these poor things one moment's pain—if we could help it?"
Marcia drew away from him. He divined the hurt in her as she began twisting and untwisting a ribbon from her belt, while her lip trembled.
"I can't understand," she said, frowning—"I can't!"
"I know you can't. But won't you trust me? Dearest, you're going to trust me with your whole life? Won't you?"