“You have,” said Goddard. “It will be a tremendous help to us.”
“You don’t mind my having kept it a secret from you?” she asked after some further discussion; “I wanted it to come as a surprise to you—to cheer you with a little unexpected help.”
She put her hands in her lap, and bent forward with a pretty air of humility. A faint note of wistfulness in her voice increased its charm.
All Goddard could say was that the scheme had been perfect. He tried to say more, but his unaccustomed brain refused to formulate in words subtleties of emotion. But before leaving he had a sudden inspiration.
“I feel a different man since I have seen you,” he said abruptly; “I was inclined to be harassed and despondent. Now—— ‘Strange how a smile of God can change the world.’ That’s what you seem to be.”
Lady Phayre turned away her head and blushed. She knew it was like a school-girl, but she could not help it. No one had ever told her quite that before. The glimpse into spiritual things rather frightened her. She did not know whether to be angry or pleased at being enraptured. Like a wise woman, she decided upon indefiniteness. But she could not hide a certain softness in her eyes as she bade him good-bye.
“I shall be in the Salvation Army Barracks at nine this evening. If you could help me just a little—unless you are too busy?”
He promised, delighted, and went away on house-to-house visits in the dark byways of the town, spreading everywhere, with great voice and hearty gestures, the overflow of his happiness. He felt himself filled with the spirit of victory. One man refused to be comforted.
“Strikes never did no good,” he said.
Goddard drew himself up, towered over him, and rated him for pusillanimity. If he could have spoken his inmost heart, he would have shouted—