"A woman convinced against her will is of the same opinion still," Mr. Winthrop quoted, although addressing no one in particular.
"The author's real words are, 'A man convinced against his will,'" I retorted.
"In this case it is a woman, and a very determined, insistent little woman she is too," he replied.
I rose, and standing before my guardian, said, "I am not such a little woman, Mr. Winthrop, as you would make me believe. Actually I can look over Mrs. Flaxman's head."
"A perfect giantess, especially in defending the character of the poor and bereaved."
"If you had studied poor, hard-working people more, and books less, you would have found some of the rarest specimens of patience, and self-forgetfulness and fortitude, and oh, so many other beautiful characteristics, that you would long to strip off your proud ancestry and wealth, and become like them. They find it so much easier to be Christians—they are not bewildered by the pride of life and vanities that pall while they allure, and the perplexity of riches, and other ills the higher born are heir to."
"I sincerely hope you will not begin a new crusade, Medoline."
"Why, Mr. Winthrop, what do you mean?" I asked, surprised at the sudden turn of the conversation.
"What do I mean? You have begun it already. I only stipulate that you carry this crusade no farther."
"But I do not understand you. How then can I promise to obey your will?"