"Is our dear young friend a great woman, though?" asked the Dean.
"She aspires to be," said Morewood; he was sneering as usual, but rather
at aspirations in general than at any unusual absurdity in May Gaston's;
thus at least the Dean understood him.
"You mean that that's at the bottom of the trouble?" he inquired, smiling
a little.
"Oh, yes," answered Morewood, weary of indicating what was so apparent.
"You've dived down to something in that picture; perhaps she has."
"Yes, she has." Morewood looked straight at the Dean as he added, "But I
can leave out the other things, you see. That's the difference."
"And she can't? No. That is the difference. She'll have to live with the
other things." He looked courageously at Morewood and ended, "We must
trust in God." Either the sincerity or the unexpectedness of the remark
kept Morewood silent.
No such ambition as these two imputed to her consciously animated May
Gaston. Just now she was content if she could persuade her mother that
people after all said nothing very dreadful (for what was said was always
more to Lady Attlebridge than what was true), could keep on something
like friendly relations with her sister, and could maintain a cheerful
view of her own position and of her experiment.
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