So she began gossiping,
just as one of you might to an old lady: and certainly she talked
in the sweetest way in the world to Neith; and explained to her
all about crockets and pinnacles: and Neith sat, looking very
grave; and always graver as St. Barbara went on; till at last, I'm
sorry to say, St. Barbara lost her temper a little.
MARY (very grave herself). "St. Barbara"?
L. Yes, Mary. Why shouldn't she? It was very tiresome of Neith to
sit looking like that.
MAY. But, then, St. Barbara was a saint!
L. What's that, May?
MAY. A saint! A saint is--I am sure you know!
L. If I did, it would not make me sure that you knew too, May: but
I don't.
VIOLET (expressing the incredulity of the audience). Oh,--sir!
L. That is to say, I know that people are called saints who are
supposed to be better than others: but I don't know how much
better they must be, in order to be saints; nor how nearly anybody
may be a saint, and yet not be quite one; nor whether everybody
who is called a saint was one; nor whether everybody who isn't
called a saint, isn't one.
(General silence; the audience feeling themselves on the verge of
the Infinities--and a little shocked--and much puzzled by so many
questions at once.)
L. Besides, did you never hear that verse about being--called to
be "saints"?
MAY (repeats Rom.
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