Belief and doubt -- Fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; Methodists -- Fiction; New York (State) -- Fiction; Psychological fiction
Precisely what she meant by this assurance, Theron did not attempt to
guess. He received her adieu, noted the masterful manner in which
she kissed his wife, and watched her pass out into the hall, with the
feeling uppermost that this was a person who decidedly knew her way
about. Much as he was prepared to dislike her, and much as he detested
the vulgar methods her profession typified, he could not deny that she
seemed a very capable sort of woman.
This mental concession did not prevent his fixing upon Alice, when she
returned to the room, a glance of obvious disapproval.
“Theron,” she broke forth, to anticipate his reproach, “I did it for the
best. The Pierces would have got her if I hadn't cut in. I thought it
would help to have her on our side. And, besides, I like her. She's the
first sister I've seen since we've been in this hole that's had a kind
word for me--or--or sympathized with me! And--and--if you're going to be
offended--I shall cry!”
There were real tears on her lashes, ready to make good the threat.
“Oh, I guess I wouldn't,” said Theron, with an approach to his old,
half-playful manner. “If you like her, that's the chief thing.”
Alice shook her tear-drops away. “No,” she replied, with a wistful
smile; “the chief thing is to have her like you. She's as smart as a
steel trap--that woman is--and if she took the notion, I believe she
could help get us a better place.”
CHAPTER XIV
The ensuing week went by with a buzz and whirl, circling about Theron
Ware's dizzy consciousness like some huge, impalpable teetotum sent
spinning under Sister Soulsby's resolute hands. Whenever his vagrant
memory recurred to it, in after months, he began by marvelling, and
ended with a shudder of repulsion.
It was a week crowded with events, which seemed to him to shoot past
so swiftly that in effect they came all of a heap. He never essayed the
task, in retrospect, of arranging them in their order of sequence. They
had, however, a definite and interdependent chronology which it is worth
the while to trace.
Mrs. Soulsby brought her trunk round to the parsonage bright and early
on Friday morning, and took up her lodgement in the best bedroom,
and her headquarters in the house at large, with a cheerful and
business-like manner. She desired nothing so much, she said, as that
people should not put themselves out on her account, or allow her to
get in their way. She appeared to mean this, too, and to have very good
ideas about securing its realization.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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