Read that letter."
Bessie read that letter. "Very honeyed phrases," said she with her odd
twist of the mouth, so like her grandfather. It was from a more
practised philanthropist than the young lady to whom it was addressed,
and was in a strain of fulsome adulation, redolent of gratitude for
favors to come. Religious and benevolent egotism is impervious to the
tiny sting of sarcasm. Mrs. Chiverton looked complacently lofty, and
Bessie had not now to learn how necessary to her was the incense of
praise. Once this had provoked her contempt, but now she discerned a
certain pathos in it; she had learnt what large opportunity the craving
for homage gives to disappointment. "You cannot fail to do some good
because you mean well," she said after the perusal of more letters, more
papers and reports. "But don't call me heartless and unfeeling because
I think that distance lends enchantment to the view of some of your
pious and charitable objects."
"Oh no; I see you do not understand their necessity. I am busy at home
too. I am waging a crusade against a dreadful place called Morte, and a
cottage warfare with our own steward. These things do not interest Mr.
Chiverton, but he gives me his support. I tell him Morte must disappear
from the face of the earth, but there is a greedy old agent of Mr.
Gifford's, one Blagg, who is terribly in the way. Then I have
established a nursery in connection with the school, where the mothers
can leave their little children when they go to work in the fields.
Pages:
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384