Faith's blush was exquisite. Real speech was hard to command. She knew all eyes were waiting upon her; and she could not reason out and comfort herself with the truth—that to them her blush might mean several things as well as one. The answer came in that delicate voice of hers which timidity had shaken.
"I think—it depends on what there is to move it."
"What do you call sufficient force?" said Mrs. Somers.
"I?"—said Faith.—
"Yes, you," replied the parson's wife with a look not unkindly amused.
"What sort and degree of power should move 'such a heart'?—to quote
Julius."
Faith's blush was painful again, and it was only the sheer necessity of the case that enabled her to rally. But her answer was clear. "Something better than itself, Mrs. Somers."
"I should like to know what that is!" said Mrs. Somers.
Mr. Linden's involuntary "And so should I"—was in a different tone, but rather drew eyes upon himself than Faith.
"It's of no consequence to you!" said the doctor, with a funny, mock serious tone of admonition.
Mr. Linden bowed, acquiescingly.—"Psychology is an interesting study"—he added, in qualification. "But let me return your warning, doctor—you have a formidable rival."