“Heavens!” exclaimed Miss Vavasor to herself, “what an extravagant young woman! She won’t do for us!”

But what she said to Hester was, “Don’t you think, my dear, all that sounds a little—just a little extravagant? You know as well as I do that that kind of thinking is out-of-date—does not belong to today’s world. Nothing will ever bring in that kind of thing again. It is all very well to go to church, but really it seems to me that such extravagant notions about religion must have a great deal to do with the present sad state of affairs.”

“What do you take God for, a priest?” said Hester. “Was Jesus Christ a priest. What did he mean when he said that whoever loved anyone else more than him was not worthy of him? Or do you confess the ideas of ‘religion,’ as you call it, true—but then say they are of no consequence? If you do not care about what God wants of you, I can simply say that I care about nothing else. And if ever I should change, I hope he will soon teach me better—whatever sorrow may be necessary for me to that end. I desire not to care a straw about anything he does not care about.”

“It is very plain at least,” said Miss Vavasor, “that you do not love my nephew as he deserves to be loved. You have very different ideas from such as were taught in my girlhood concerning the duties of wives. A woman, I used to be told, was to fashion herself for her husband, fit her life to his life, her thoughts to his thoughts, her tastes to his tastes.”

The idea would have seemed absurd, to anyone really knowing the two, of a woman like Hester fitting herself into the mould of a man like lord Gartley. For what would be done with the quantity of her that would be left after his lordship’s small mould was filled! Instead of walking on together in simple equality, in mutual honour and devotion, each helping the other to be better still, the ludicrous notion that Miss Vavasor held would have the woman—large and noble though she may be—come cowering after her husband—spiritual pigmy though he might be—as if he were the god of her life. Not the less if the woman be married to such a man, will it be her highest glory, by the patience of Christ, by the sacrifice of self, yea of everything save the will of God, to win the man, if he may by any means be won, from the misery of his self-seeking to a noble shame of what he now delights in.

“You are right,” said Hester. “I do not love lord Gartley sufficiently for that. Thank you, Miss Vavasor. You have helped me come to the thorough conviction that there could never have been any real union between us. Can a woman love with the truest love a man who does not care that she should attain to the perfect growth of her nature? He would have been quite content that I should remain forever the poor creature I am. He would not have sought to raise me above myself. The man I shall love as I could love must be a greater man than that. No! I will be a woman and not a countess!—I wish you good morning, Miss Vavasor.”