Part 115 (1/2)
”She thinks she does.”
”She does not know the half.”
”Philip,” said Mrs. Burrage severely and discontentedly, ”you are not agreeing with me.”
”Not entirely, sister.”
”You are as fond of the theatre, or of the opera, as anybody I know.”
”I never saw a decent opera in my life.”
”Philip!”
”Nor did you.”
”How ridiculous! You have been going to the opera all your life, and the theatre too, in half a dozen different countries.”
”Therefore I claim to know of what I speak. And if I had a wife--” he paused. His thoughts made two or three leaps; the vision of Lois's sweet, pure dignity came before him, and words were wanting.
”What if you had a wife?” asked his sister impatiently.
”I would rather she would be anything but a 'fast' woman.”
”She needn't be 'fast'; but she needn't be precise either.”
There was something in Philip's air or his silence which provoked Mrs.
Burrage. She went on with some heat, and defiantly.
”I have no objection to religion, in a proper way. I always teach Chauncey to make the responses.”
”Make them yourself?”
”Of course.”
”Do you mean them?”
”Mean them!”--
”Yes. Do you mean what you say? When you have said, 'Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable sinners'--did you feel guilty? or miserable?”
”Miserable!”--
”Yes. Did you feel miserable?”
”Philip, I have no idea what you are driving at, unless you are defending these two precise, puritanical young country-women.”
”A little of that,” he said, smiling, ”and a little of something else.”