“But is she not vowed to her work; isn’t her life turned forever into that channel?  Would it not be horrible to you to see the world interfere?”

“I won’t say but what I’d be sorry to see her leave us.  But I wouldn’t stand in her way either, and neither would Captain Sand.”

“Stand in her way!  In her way to material luxury, poverty of spirit, the shirking of all the high alternatives, the common moral mediocrity of the world.  I would to God I could be that stumbling block!  I have heard her—­I have seen the light in her that may so possibly be extinguished.”

“I don’t deny she has a kind of platform gift, but she’s losin’ her voice.  And she doesn’t understand briskin’ people up, if you know what I mean.”

“She will be pulled down—­she will go under!” Arnold repeated in the depths of his spirit.  He stood up, fumbling with his hat.  Mrs. Sand and her apartment, her children out of doors in the perambulator, and the whole organisation to which she appertained, had grown oppressive and unnecessary.  He was aware of a supreme desire to put his foot again in his own world, where things were seen, were understood.  He thought there might be solace in relating the affair to Brother Colquhoun.

“It’s a case,” said Mrs. Sand, judicially, “where I wouldn’t think myself called on to say one word.  Such things everyone has a right to decide for themselves.  But you oughtn’t to forget that a married woman”—­she looked at Arnold’s celibate habit as if to hold it accountable for much—­“can have a great influence for good over him that she chooses.  I am pretty sure Captain Filbert’s already got Mr. Lindsay almost persuaded.  I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he joined the Army himself when she’s had a good chance at him.”

Arnold put on his hat with a groan and began the descent of the stairs.  “Good-afternoon, then,” Mrs. Sand called out to him from the top.  He turned mechanically and bared his head.  “I beg your pardon,” he said, “Good-afternoon.”

CHAPTER XIV.

Mrs. Sand found it difficult to make up her mind upon several points touching the visit of the Reverend Stephen Arnold.  Its purport, of which she could not deny her vague, appreciation, drew a cloud across a rosy prospect, and in this light his conduct showed unpardonable; on the other hand, it implied a compliment to the corps, it made the spiritual position of an officer of the Army, a junior too, a matter of moment in a wider world than might be suspected; and before this consideration Mrs. Sand expanded.  She reflected liberally that salvation was not necessarily frustrated by the laying-on of hands; she had serene fancies of a republic of the redeemed.  She was a prey to further hesitations regarding the expediency of mentioning the interview to Laura, and as private and confidential it ministered for two days to her satisfactions of superior officer.  In the end,