Part 3 (1/2)
There was something exhilarating about her as she tossed her pretty head. Wynne laughed without knowing just why, except that she intoxicated him with delight.
”You don't speak of your work with much enthusiasm,” said he.
”Enthusiasm!” she retorted. ”Why should I? It's abominable. I hate it, the people I visit hate it, and there's n.o.body pleased but the managers, who can set down so many more visits paid to the worthy poor, and make a better showing in their annual report. For my part I am tired of the worthy poor; and if I must keep on slumming, I'd like to try the unworthy poor a while. I'm sure they'd be more interesting.”
She spoke with a pretty air of recklessness, as if she were conscious that this was not the strain in which to address one of his cloth.
There was not a little vexation under her lightness of manner, however, and Wynne was not so dull as not to perceive that something had gone amiss.
”But philanthropy,” he began, ”is surely”--
”Your cousin,” she interrupted, ”declares that only the eye of Omniscience can possibly distinguish between what pa.s.ses for philanthropy and what is sheer egotism.”
He laughed in spite of himself, feeling that he ought to be shocked.
”But what,” he asked, ”has impressed this view of things upon you this morning in particular?”
His companion made a droll little gesture with both her hands.
”Of course I show it,” she said; ”though you needn't have reminded me that I have lost my temper.”
”I beg your pardon,” began Maurice in confusion, ”I”--
”Oh, you haven't done anything wrong,” she interrupted, ”the trouble is entirely with me. I've been making a fool of myself at the instigation of the powers that rule over my charitable career, and I don't like the feeling.”
They walked on a moment without further speech. Maurice said to himself with a thrill of contrition that he would double the penance laid upon him, and he endeavored not to be conscious of the thought which followed that the delight of this companions.h.i.+p was worth the price which he should thus pay for it.
”This is what happened,” Miss Morison said at length. ”I don't quite know whether to laugh or to cry with vexation. There's a poor widow who has had all sorts of trials and tribulations. Indeed, she's been a miracle of ill luck ever since I began to have the honor to a.s.sure her weekly that I'm no better than she is. It may be that the fib isn't lucky.”
She turned to flash a bright glance into the face of her companion as she spoke, and he tried to clear away the look of gravity so quickly that she might not perceive it.
”Oh,” she cried; ”now I have shocked you! I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it.”
”No,” he replied, ”you didn't really shock me. It only seemed to me a pity that you should be working with so little heart and under direction that doesn't seem entirely wise.”
”Wise!” she echoed scornfully. ”There's a benevolent gentleman who insisted upon giving this old woman five dollars. It was all against the rules of the a.s.sociated Charities, for which he said he didn't care a fig. That's the advantage of being a man! And what do you think the old thing did? She took the whole of it to buy a bonnet with a red feather in it! The committee heard of it, though I can't for my life see how. There are a lot of them that seem to think that benevolence consists chiefly in prying into the affairs of the poor wretches they help! And they posted me off to scold her.”
”But why did you go?”
”They said they would send Miss Spare if I didn't, and in common humanity I couldn't leave that old creature to the tender mercies of Miss Spare.”
”What did you say?”
The face of Miss Morison lighted with mocking amus.e.m.e.nt.
”That's the beauty of it,” she cried, bursting into a low laugh which was full of the keenest fun. ”I began with the things I'd been told to say; but the old woman said that all her life long she had wanted a bonnet with red feathers, but that she had never expected to have one.
When she got this money, she went out to buy clothing, and in a window she saw this bonnet marked five dollars. She piously remarked that it seemed providential. She's like the rest of the world in finding what she likes to be providential.”
”Yes,” murmured Maurice, half under his breath; ”like my meeting you.”
Miss Morison looked surprised, but she ignored the words, and went on with her story.
”She said she concluded she'd rather go without the clothes, and have the bonnet; and by the time we were through I had weakly gone back on all the instructions I'd received, and told her she was right. She knew what she wanted, and I don't blame her for getting it when she could.