“Yes; I hardly think he will live over today. That was why I ventured to send to you for the fruit.”
“I am very glad you did,” said Cicely. “I have brought some other little things for him,” she added, glancing at her basket, “but if he is too ill to care for them, I can give them to his brothers and sisters. Poor little creatures, they are more to be pitied than he, if he is dying!”
Mr. Hayle looked at her rather suspiciously. His two or three conversations with Miss Methvyn had rendered him somewhat chary of subscribing to her sentiments till he had examined them on all sides.
“How do you mean?” he asked warily.
“I mean that life—living rather—in such circumstances as those of these poor people, is much more pitiable than death.”
“But there must be poor people. We know for a fact that there always must be,” replied Mr. Hayle. “And knowing this, we have no right to say that the world would be better without them, or to wish them out of it.”
“I did not say that,” said Cicely. “I only say that when they die, they must surely have a better chance than many of them have here. It was only from their side of the question that I was speaking. It would be very dreadful to think that, as you say, there must always be poor—by poor, of course, I mean very poor and wretched people. I know nothing of Political Economy, but I don’t quite see why there always must be such terrible blots on the race. Indeed, I don’t think I do see it at all. Don’t you think that on the whole, things are improving, Mr. Hayle, and if so, will not the world be a better place a few thousands of years hence than it is now?”
She spoke half laughingly, but Mr. Hayle’s face and tone were very grave as he replied to her.
“I was not speaking as a political economist, Miss Methvyn. You misunderstood me. I was speaking as a Christian.”
Cicely looked at him in some perplexity, but gradually her brow cleared.