And she was ashamed that
she had laid herself open to such dishonor, and her thoughts of Freda
were unkind.
Not that Freda deserved this. Mrs. Eppingwell had descended to meet her
who was without caste, while she, strong in the traditions of her own
earlier status, had not permitted it. She could worship such a woman,
and she would have asked no greater joy than to have had her into the
cabin and sat with her, just sat with her, for an hour. But her respect
for Mrs. Eppingwell, and her respect for herself, who was beyond respect,
had prevented her doing that which she most desired. Though not quite
recovered from the recent visit of Mrs. McFee, the wife of the minister,
who had descended upon her in a whirlwind of exhortation and brimstone,
she could not imagine what had prompted the present visit. She was not
aware of any particular wrong she had done, and surely this woman who
waited at the door was not concerned with the welfare of her soul. Why
had she come? For all the curiosity she could not help but feel, she
steeled herself in the pride of those who are without pride, and trembled
in the inner room like a maid on the first caress of a lover.
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