"Then he could not. One must love other people, to live for them."
"Love all sorts?" said Mrs. Barclay.
"You cannot work for them unless you do."
"Then it is hopeless!—unless one is born with an exceptional mind."
"O no," said Lois, smiling, "not hopeless. The love of Christ brings the love of all that he loves."
There was a glow and a sparkle, and a tenderness too, in the girl's face, which made Mrs. Barclay look at her in a somewhat puzzled admiration. She did not understand Lois's words, and she saw that her face was a commentary upon them; therefore also unintelligible; but it was strangely pure and fair. "You would do for Philip, I do believe," she thought, "if he could get you; but he will never get you." Aloud she said nothing. By and by Lois returned to the book she had brought in with her.
"Here are some words which I cannot read; they are not English. What are they?"
Mrs. Barclay read: "Le bon goût, les ris, l'aimable liberté. That is
French."
"What does it mean?"
"Good taste, laughter, and charming liberty. You do not know French?"