"'Is it to be Sir Charles after all, darling?' she asked caressingly."
Strelsa laughed outright, then, astonished that she had not shrunk from a renewal of the eternal pressure, looked at Molly with wide gray eyes.
"I don't know what's the matter with me to-day," she said; "I seem to be able to laugh. I've not been very well physically; I've had a ghastly morning; I'm homeless and wretchedly poor—and I'm laughing at it all—the whole thing, Molly. What do you suppose is the matter with me?"
"You're not in love, are you?" asked Molly with calm suspicion.
"No, I'm not," said the girl with a quiet conviction that disconcerted the elder woman.
"Then I don't see why you should be very happy," said Molly honestly.
Strelsa considered: "Perhaps it's because to-day I feel unusually well. I slept—which I don't usually."
"You're becoming devout, too," said Molly.
"Devout? Oh, you saw me reading in my Testament.... It's an interesting book, Molly," she said naïvely. "You know, as children, and at school, and in church we don't read it with any intelligence—or listen to it in the right way.... People are odd. We have our moments of contrition, abasement, fright, exaltation; but at bottom we know that our religion and a fair observance of it is a sound policy of insurance. We accept it as we take out insurance in view of eventualities and the chance of future fire——"