"Dear Cathy, it is so strange, so unlike you to quarrel with your best friend. The more I see Mr. Logan, the more I honor and revere him, Such intellect, and yet the simplicity and guilelessness of a child. I believe he lives only to do good; he reminds one of those olden saints of whom one reads."
Cathy's dark eyes flashed, and then grew humid with repressed feeling.
"Ah, that is just it; one cannot breathe in such a rarefied atmosphere."
"Do you mean that you find his goodness so oppressive? I am not like you then; a really good man rests me somehow. I feel in looking at one as if I were in the presence of God's highest work, as though even He could do nothing better—the best and finished work before the seventh day's rest, when 'God saw that it was good.' Think of that, Cathy. I suppose," continued Queenie, reverently, "He saw the one Divine likeness stamped on the face of humanity, the one Man shining through the ages of men. Oh, there is nothing grander in all creation than a really good man."
"Don't, Queenie; I am not in a mood for your great thoughts to-night; you must come down and meet me on my own level. You don't know how inconceivably little and mean and insignificant he makes me feel. I begin," enunciating her words with an effort, "to feel afraid of myself and him."
"Afraid of Mr. Logan! what nonsense, Catherina mia. Why a child, the very poorest and most miserable child, would slip its little hand in his fearlessly, and be soothed and comforted by the mere contact."
"A child, ah, yes; but I am a woman," returned Cathy, almost inaudibly.
"You are a girl, and so am I, which means we are faulty, imperfect creatures, full of fads and fancies, and brimful of mischief I dare say. Do you think a man like Mr. Logan, who knows human nature, expects us to be perfection?"
"No; but he expects us to grow up to him, and live and breathe in his atmosphere. But I can't, Queenie; I have tried, I have tried so hard to be good, but it stifles me; I feel just as I do when I am teaching the children in one of those close cottages, as though I must rush out and get some air, or I shall be suffocated."
"Why do you undervalue yourself so?" returned her friend, looking at her affectionately. "You have got into the habit; it is such a pity, and it spoils you so. I think you good, and you are good." But Cathy only pushed the dark locks back from her face, and looked disconsolate.