.Forthoughhewasgrowingmorecharitabletowardsmankind,hewasstillalittlejaunty,andtooapttostakeoutbeforehandthecoursethatwillbepursuedbythewoundedsoul.Itdidnotsurprisehim,however,thatsheshouldgreethimnaturally,withnoneofthesourself-consciousnessofapersonwhohadjustrisenfromherknees.ThiswasindeedthespiritofSantaDeodata’s,whereaprayertoGodisthoughtnonetheworseofbecauseitcomesnexttoapleasantwordtoaneighbour.“IamsurethatIneedit,”saidsheandhe,whohadexpectedhertobeashamed,becameconfused,andknewnotwhattoreply.
“I’venothingtotellyou,”shecontinued.“Ihavesimplychangedstraightround.IfIhadplannedthewholethingout,Icouldnothavetreatedyouworse.IcantalkitovernowbutpleasebelievethatIhavebeencrying.”
“AndpleasebelievethatIhavenotcometoscoldyou,”saidPhilip.“Iknowwhathashappened.”
“What?”askedMissAbbott.Instinctivelysheledthewaytothefamouschapel,thefifthchapelontheright,whereinGiovannidaEmpolihaspaintedthedeathandburialofthesaint.Heretheycouldsitoutofthedustandthenoise,andproceedwithadiscussionwhichpromisedtobeimportant.
“Whatmighthavehappenedtome—hehadmadeyoubelievethathelovedthechild.”
“Oh,yeshehas.Hewillnevergiveitup.”
“Atpresentitisstillunsettled.”
“Itwillneverbesettled.”
“Perhapsnot.Well,asIsaid,Iknowwhathashappened,andIamnotheretoscoldyou.ButImustaskyoutowithdrawfromthethingforthepresent.Harrietisfurious.Butshewillcalmdownwhensherealizesthatyouhavedoneusnoharm,andwilldonone.”
“Icandonomore,”shesaid.“ButItellyouplainlyIhavechangedsides.”
“Ifyoudonomore,thatisallwewant.YoupromisenottoprejudiceourcausebyspeakingtoSignorCarella?”
“Oh,certainly.Idon’twanttospeaktohimagainIshan’teverseehimagain.”
“Quitenice,wasn’the?”
“Quite.”
“Well,that’sallIwantedtoknow.I’llgoandtellHarrietofyourpromise,andIthinkthings’llquietdownnow.”
Buthedidnotmove,foritwasanincreasingpleasuretohimtobenearher,andhercharmwasatitsstrongesttoday.Hethoughtlessofpsychologyandfemininereaction.Thegushofsentimentalismwhichhadcarriedherawayhadonlymadehermorealluring.Hewascontenttoobserveherbeautyandtoprofitbythetendernessandthewisdomthatdweltwithinher.
“Whyaren’tyouangrywithme?”sheasked,afterapause.
“BecauseIunderstandyou—allsides,Ithink,—Harriet,SignorCarella,evenmymother.”
“Youdounderstandwonderfully.Youaretheonlyoneofuswhohasageneralviewofthemuddle.”
Hesmiledwithpleasure.Itwasthefirsttimeshehadeverpraisedhim.HiseyesrestedagreeablyonSantaDeodata,whowasdyinginfullsanctity,uponherback.Therewasawindowopenbehindher,revealingjustsuchaviewashehadseenthatmorning,andonherwidowedmother’sdressertherestoodjustsuchanothercopperpot.Thesaintlookedneitherattheviewnoratthepot,andatherwidowedmotherstillless.Forlo!shehadavision:theheadandshouldersofSt.Augustinewereslidinglikesomemiraculousenamelalongtherough-castwall.Itisagentlesaintwhoiscontentwithhalfanothersainttoseeherdie.Inherdeath,asinherlife,SantaDeodatadidnotaccomplishmuch.
“Sowhata