“You must give me time to think. And when I’ve forgiven you a great many times for a great variety of offenses I will tell you which I found the hardest. You must remember that I’ve had no sort of experience yet.”
“That’s because you don’t know at all how badly I’ve treated you. What do you think of my laughing at you that day when I went off to the schoolhouse with Rachel Woodward? Don’t you consider it heartless? If I hadn’t been the worst person in the world, could I have done it?”
Easton smiled at the zeal of her self-condemnation. “I dare say there had been something very ridiculous in my behavior. If you can remember any particular points that amused you, I shouldn’t mind laughing them over with you, now.”
“How good you are!” she murmured, regarding him absently. “I should be the worst woman in the world, shouldn’t I, if I deceived you in the least thing? But I never will; no, no, I couldn’t! Your not thinking it anything would only make it the harder to bear. Don’t you know how killing it is to have people suppose you’re too good to do things when you’ve done them? It’s awful. That’s one good thing about Rachel Woodward. She thinks I’m a miserable sinner, but she likes me; and you mustn’t like me unless you think I’m a miserable sinner. Oh no, I couldn’t let you. I’ll tell you: I want you to think me perfectly reckless and fickle; I want you to believe that I’m so foolish, don’t you know, that even while you were lying sick there, if he’d let me, I should have been quite capable of flirting with—with Ben Woodward.”
Easton burst into a laugh: “That’s altogether too abominable for anybody to believe, Rosabel. Can’t you try me with something a shade less atrocious? Come, I’m willing to think ill of you, since you wish it; but do be reasonable! Won’t you?” he asked, looking round into her face, as they walked along. “Well, then, try to help me in another way. What shall I do about Rachel Woodward? I don’t know how I’m to express my gratitude fitly or acceptably for all the trouble she’s had with me in this most humiliating sickness of mine. Do you suppose she could be persuaded into accepting any sort of help? Do you think she would care to become a painter, if she had the facilities quite to her mind?”
“She would,” replied Mrs. Farrell, “if she didn’t expect sometime to get married, like other people; there’s always that if in a woman’s aspirations. But that’s neither here nor there. If you think you can ever contrive to reward Rachel Woodward for doing what she thinks her duty, you’re very much mistaken.”
“It’s rather hard to be left so much in her debt.”
“Yes; but she doesn’t consider you indebted; that’s one comfort.”
Easton mused awhile. “Do you know,” he said, presently, “I sometimes wonder Gilbert didn’t take a fancy to our difficult little friend. They’re sufficiently unlike, and he would be just the man to feel the pale charm of her character.”
“Do you think so?” asked Mrs. Farrell, with cold evasion. “I supposed Mr. Gilbert was too worldly a man to care for a simple country girl like Rachel Woodward.”