"Then do you think it wrong to sing common songs?--those everybody sings?"
"_I_ cannot sing them," said Esther simply. "My voice is Christ"s servant." But the smile with which these (to Betty) severe words were spoken was entirely charming. There was not severity but gladness upon every line of the curving lips, along with a trait of tenderness which touched Betty"s heart. In all her life she had never had such a feeling of inferiority. She had given due reverence to persons older than herself; it was the fashion in those days; she had acknowledged a certain social precedence in ladies who were leaders of society and heads of families; she had never had such a feeling of being set down, as before this young, pure, stately creature. Mentally, Betty, as it were, stepped down from the dais and stood with her arms folded over her breast, in the Eastern att.i.tude of reverence, during the rest of the interview.
"Then you do not do anything," said Betty incredulously, "if you cannot do it _so?_"
"Not if I know it," the other said, smiling more broadly and with some archness.
"But still--may I speak frankly?--that does not tell me all. You know--you _must_ know--that not everybody would like your choice of music?"
"I suppose, very few."
"Would it do any good, in any way, to displease them?"
"That is not the first question. The first question, in any case, is, How may I best do this thing for G.o.d?--for His honour and His kingdom."
"I do not see what His honour and His kingdom have to do with it."
"It is for His honour that His servants should obey Him, is it not?"
said Esther, with another smile. "And is it not for His kingdom, that His invitations should be given?"
"But _here?_"
"Why not here?"
"It is unusual."
"I have no business to be anywhere where I cannot do it."
"That sounds--dreadful!" said Betty honestly.
"Why?"
"Oh, it sounds strict, narrow, like a sort of slavery, as if one could never be free."
"Free for what?"
"Whatever one likes! I should be miserable if I felt I could not do what I liked!"
"Can you do it now?" said Esther.
"Well, not always; but I am free to try," said Betty frankly.
"Is that your definition of happiness?--to try for that which you cannot attain."
"I do attain it,--sometimes."
"And keep it?"
"Keep it? You cannot keep anything in this world."
"I do not think anything is happiness, that you cannot keep."
"But--if you come to that--what _can_ you keep?" said Betty.
Esther bent forward a little, and said, with an intense gleam in her grey eyes, which seemed to dance and sparkle,
""Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.""
"I do not know Him," Betty breathed out, after staring at her companion.
"I saw that."
Esther rose, and Betty felt constrained to rise too.
"Oh, are you going?" she cried. "I have not done talking. How can I know Him?"
"Do you wish me to tell you?"
"Indeed, yes."
"If you are in dead earnest, and seek Him, He will reveal Himself to you. But then, you must be willing to obey every word He says. Good night."
She offered her hand. Before Miss Frere, however, could take it, up came the lady of the house.
"You are not _going_, Miss Gainsborough?"
"My father would be uneasy if I stayed out late."
"Oh, well, for once! What have you two been talking about? I saw several gentlemen casting longing looks in this direction, but they did not venture to interrupt. What were you discussing?"
"Life in general," said Betty.
"Life!" echoed the older woman, and her brow was instantly clouded.
"What is the use of talking about that? Can either of you say that her life is not a failure?"
"Miss Gainsborough will say that," replied Betty. "As for me, my life is a problem that I have not solved."
"What do you mean by a "failure," Mrs. Chatsworth?" the other girl asked.
"Oh, just a failure! Turning out nothing, coming to nothing; nothing, I mean, that is satisfying. "_Tout la.s.se,--tout ca.s.se,--tout pa.s.se!_" A true record; but isn"t it sorrowful?"
"I do not think it need be true," said Esther.
"It is not true with you?"
"No, certainly not."
"Your smile says more than your words. What a smile! My dear, I envy you. And yet I do not. You have got to wake up from all that. You are seventeen, eighteen--nineteen, is it?--and you have not found out yet that the world is hollow and your doll stuffed with sawdust."