"Don't you think I'm entitled to one holiday?" she asked.

But it was by a supreme effort she kept back the tears. He looked at her
attentively, and got up suddenly and put his hands upon her shoulders.
She could not meet his eyes, and trembled under his touch.

"Honora," he said, "why don't you tell me the truth?"

"What do you mean, Hugh?"

"I have been wondering how long you'd stand it. I mean that these women,
who call themselves Christians, have been brutal to you. They haven't so
much as spoken to you in church, and not one of them has been to this
house to call. Isn't that so?"

"Don't let us judge them yet, Hugh," she begged, a little wildly, feeling
again the gathering of another destroying storm in him that might now
sweep the last vestige of hope away. And she seized the arguments as they
came. "Some of them may be prejudiced, I know. But others--others I am
sure are kind, and they have had no reason to believe I should like to
know them--to work among them. I--I could not go to see them first, I am
glad to wait patiently until some accident brings me near them. And
remember, Hugh, the atmosphere in which we both lived before we came
here--an atmosphere they regard as frivolous and pleasure-loving. People
who are accustomed to it are not usually supposed to care to make friends
in a village, or to bother their heads about the improvement of a
community. Society is not what it was in your mother's day, who knew
these people or their mothers, and took an interest in what they were
doing. Perhaps they think me--haughty." She tried to smile. "I have never