Thelma turned her eyes upon him in wonderment.
"I do not understand you," she said coldly. "Why do you speak of
_others_? No others are interested in what I do? Why should they be? Why
should _you_ be? There is no need!"
Mr. Dyceworthy grew slightly excited. He felt like a runner nearing the
winning-post.
"Oh, you wrong yourself, my dear Froeken," he murmured softly, with a
sickly attempt at tenderness in his tone. "You really wrong yourself! It
is impossible,--for me at least, not to be interested in you,--even for
our dear Lord's sake. It troubles me to the inmost depths of my soul to
behold in you one of the foolish virgins whose light hath been
extinguished for lack of the saving oil,--to see you wandering as a lost
sheep in the paths of darkness and error, without a hand to rescue your
steps from the near and dreadful precipice! Ay, truly! . . . my spirit
yearneth for you as a mother for an own babe--fain would I save you from
the devices of the evil one,--fain would I--" here the minister drew out
his handkerchief and pressed it lightly to his eyes,--then, as if with
an effort overcoming his emotion, he added, with the gravity of a
butcher presenting an extortionate bill, "but first,--before my own
humble desires for your salvation--first, ere I go further in converse,
it behoveth me to enter on the Lord's business!"
Thelma bent her head slightly, with an air as though she said: "Indeed;
pray do not be long about it!" And, leaning back against the porch, she
waited somewhat impatiently.
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