"My dear!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "Is that charity?"
"How do they live?"
"If she hadn't lived nicely I'm sure she couldn't behave so nicely."
"Besides—coming here! She had no invitation———"
"I've invited her now," said Mrs. Bunting gently.
"You could hardly help yourself. I only hope your kindness———"
"It's not a kindness," said Mrs. Bunting, "it's a duty. If she were only half as charming as she is. You seem to forget"—her voice dropped—"what it is she comes for."
"That's what I want to know."
"I'm sure in these days, with so much materialism about and such wickedness everywhere, when everybody who has a soul seems trying to lose it, to find any one who hasn't a soul and who is trying to find one———"
"But is she trying to get one?"
"Mr. Flange comes twice every week. He would come oftener, as you know, if there wasn't so much confirmation about."
"And when he comes he sits and touches her hand if he can, and he talks in his lowest voice, and she sits and smiles—she almost laughs outright at the things he says."
"Because he has to win his way with her. Surely Mr. Flange may do what he can to make religion attractive?"
"I don't believe she believes she will get a soul. I don't believe she wants one a bit."
She turned towards the door as if she had done.
371
