She was by the fireplace, on the stool that had always been her favourite seat, and of course she sat very straight.  When Grizel walked or stood her strong, round figure took a hundred beautiful poses, but when she sat it had but one.  The old doctor, in experimenting moods, had sometimes compelled her to recline, and then watched to see her body spring erect the moment he released his hold.  “What a dreadful patient I should make!” she said contritely.  “I would chloroform you, miss,” said he.

She sat thus for a long time; she had so much for which to thank God, though not with her lips, for how could they keep pace with her heart?  Her heart was very full; chiefly, I think, with the tears that rolled down unknown to her.

She thanked God, in the name of the little hunted girl who had not been taught how to pray, and so did it standing.  “I do so want to be good; oh, how sweet it would be to be good!” she had said in that long ago.  She had said it out loud when she was alone on the chance of His hearing, but she had not addressed Him by name because she was not sure that he was really called God.  She had not even known that you should end by saying “Amen,” which Tommy afterwards told her is the most solemn part of it.

How sweet it would be to be good, but how much sweeter it is to be good!  The woman that girl had grown into knew that she was good, and she thanked God for that.  She thanked Him for letting her help.  If He had said that she had not helped, she would have rocked her arms and replied almost hotly:  “You know I have.”  And He did know:  He had seen her many times in the grip of inherited passions, and watched her fighting with them and subduing them; He had seen ugly thoughts stealing upon her, as they crawl towards every child of man; ah, He had seen them leap into the heart of the Painted Lady’s daughter, as if a nest already made for them must be there, and still she had driven them away.  Grizel had helped.  The tears came more quickly now.

She thanked God that she had never worn the ring.  But why had she never worn it, when she wanted so much to do so, and it was hers?  Why had she watched herself more carefully than ever of late, and forced happiness to her face when it was not in her heart, and denied herself, at fierce moments, the luxuries of grief and despair, and even of rebellion?  For she had carried about with her the capacity to rebel, but she had hidden it, and the reason was that she thought God was testing her.  If she fell He would not give her the thing she coveted.  Unworthy reason for being good, as she knew, but God overlooked it, and she thanked Him for that.