"It's easy talking; I'd rather have acting. I'd rather see people mend their ways than stand and make speeches about them. Being sorry don't help the matter much."
"But I will try not to do so any more," said Ellen.
"When I see you don't, I shall begin to think there is something in it. Actions speak louder than words. I don't believe in this jumping into goodness all at once."
"Well, I will try not to, at any rate," said Ellen, sighing.
"I shall be very glad to see it. What has brought you into this sudden fit of dutifulness and fine talking?"
"Miss Alice told me I ought to ask your pardon for what I had done wrong," said Ellen, scarce able to keep from crying; "and I know I did wrong this morning, and I did wrong the other day about the letter; and I am sorry, whether you believe it or no."
"Miss Alice told you, did she? So all this is to please Miss Alice. I suppose you were afraid your friend Miss Alice would hear of some of your goings on, and thought you had better make up with me. Is that it?"
Ellen answered, "No, Maam," in a low tone, but had no voice to say more.
"I wish Miss Alice would look after her own affairs, and let other people's houses alone. That's always the way with your pieces of perfection they're eternally finding out something that isn't as it ought to be among their neighbours. I think people that don't set up for being quite such great things, get along quite as well in the world."
Ellen was strongly tempted to reply, but kept her lips shut.