"I was thinking of a person in it, mentioned in it, I mean,—who said just what you said a minute ago."
"What was that? And who was that?"
"It was a poor woman who once held a long talk with the Lord Jesus as he was resting beside a well. She had come to draw water, and Jesus asked her for some; and then he told her that whoever drank of that water would thirst again—as she knew; but whoever should drink of the water that he would give, should never thirst. I was telling you of that water, Mr. Dillwyn. And the woman answered just what you answered—'Give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.'"
"Did she get it?"
"I think she did."
"You mean, something that satisfied her, and would satisfy me?"
"It satisfies every one who drinks of it," said Lois.
"But you know, I do not in the least understand you."
The girl rose up and fetched a Bible which lay upon a distant table. Philip looked at the book as she brought it near; no volume of Mrs. Wishart's, he was sure. Lois had had her own Bible with her in the drawing-room. She must be one of the devout kind. He was sorry. He believed they were a narrow and prejudiced sort of people, given to laying down the law and erecting barricades across other people's paths. He was sorry this fair girl was one of them. But she was a lovely specimen. Could she unlearn these ways, perhaps? But now, what was she going to bring forth to him out of the Bible? He watched the fingers that turned the leaves; pretty fingers enough, and delicate, but not very white. Gardening probably was not conducive to the blanching of a lady's hand. It was a pity. She found her place so soon that he had little time to think his regrets.
"You allowed that nobody is satisfied, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois then.
"See if you understand this."