Time had told on her; she was looking elderly, and the wrinkles about her eyes could no longer be smoothed out. But her “front” was curled, and she was still saturated in perfume.
“I heard of your return, dear Mr. Storm,” she said, in the languid voice of the great lady, but the accent of St. Louis, as she led the way to the drawing-room. “My daughter told me about it. She was always interested in your work, you know.... Oh, yes, quite well, and having a real good time in Paris. Of course, you know she has been married. A great loss to me naturally, but being God's will I felt it was my duty as a mother——” and then a pathetic description of her maternal sentiments, consoled by the circumstance that her son-in-law belonged to “one of the best families,” and that she was constantly getting newspapers from “the other side” containing full accounts of the wedding and of the dresses that were worn at it.
John twirled his hat in his hand and listened.
“And what are your dear devoted people doing down there in Soho?”
Then John told of his work for working girls, and the great lady pretended to be deeply interested. “Why, they'll soon be better than the upper classes,” she said.
John thought it was not improbable, but he went on to tell of his scheme, and how small was the sum required for its execution.
“Only three thousand! That ought to be easily fixed up. Why, certainly!”
“Charity is the salt of riches, madam, and if rich people would remember that their wealth is a trust——”
“I do—I always do. 'Lay not up for yourselves treasure on earth'—what a beautiful text that is!”
“I'm glad to hear you say so, madam. So many Christian people allow that God is the God of the widow and fatherless, while the gods they really worship are the gods of silver and gold.”