"I know, my dear baby," said her mother, whose own eyes were suspiciously bright, "but I rather imagine that to a girl who has seen the best society that Europe and America have to offer, a dance with a lot of Savannah boys and girls could not be considered in the light of much of a treat." "I know it, mother. Yet Cousin Carol’s manners are so perfect that she never lets you suspect that. She enters into everything with such love." "That is her religion," said Mrs. La Grange. "Oh, that reminds me. She went on talking aloud as we stood there. She said, ’I must remember that the vesture of truth is my raiment. I must stand sentinel at the door of my thought and not allow error to enter it. And the way to keep error out, is to pour love in. Love! Love! Love! That is the way to meet them. Father--mother--God! Help me to love mine enemies!’ Oh, and mother dearest, by that time I was weeping, but Carol’s eyes were quite dry. ’Don’t cry, little girl,’ she said, ’I don’t any more, for I have got beyond the belief that religion is an emotion. It is too real--too lasting. Emotions die out.’ And a little light seemed to dawn for me--just as I have seen clouds break on a dark night and a single star shine through." "Then did you go back?" asked her mother, after a pressure of the hand to show that she understood. There was a singular bond between these two. "Yes, she turned and pressed my hand just as you did then, with such understanding, and her face was fairly shining, but with such a different radiance. ’Come, Peachie, darling! faithful little comrade. You would not have been one of the disciples who slept and left their Master to pray alone, would you? Well, I have conquered my little moment of error. Now let’s go back.’ ’And show them how South Carolina faces her foes,’ I said. ’Wouldn’t it be better to go back and show them how South Carolina can forgive?’ she asked." "Bless her heart!" murmured Mrs. La Grange. "I know how a young girl feels to be mistreated at a ball."