“I could have brought Marion home,” she answered, decidedly.
“And spoiled the good Bensalem was doing for her.”
“Oh, dear,” with a sigh, “how lives are tangled up.”
“And it’s rather dangerous for our fingers to get into the tangle,” he suggested, with mild reproof.
“But we must do something,” she exclaimed, in despair.
“Well, yes, I suppose so—when the time comes.”
“Well, the time has come now.”
“I don’t see anything the matter with Roger. He can walk ten miles on a stretch, he rides horseback, he cuts his own kindling wood and makes his own garden, he gives his people two strong sermons a week, beside the prayer meeting and weekly lectures; he goes hunting with one of his deacons and talks farming with another; he neglects nobody, and works like a drum-major. He isn’t hurt.”
“But he will be. Judith will refuse him.”
“How do you know that?”