"
"I don't deserve it," she said; "I wish I did."
"When I spoke about goodness," the doctor amended, "I didn't mean to
reflect on his father and mother. Mrs. Wright is one of the best women
in the world. I only meant--" William sat down and looked into the
fire. "Well; just plain goodness isn't necessarily--attractive. A
man--at least a boy like Sam, admires goodness, of course; but he does
sort of hanker after prettiness;" William's eyes dwelt on her bent
head, on the sheer muslin under David's cheek, on the soft incapable
hands that always made him think of white apple-blossoms, clasped
around the child's yielding body;--"Yes; something pretty, and
pleasant, and sweet; that's what a man--I mean a boy, Sam was only a
boy; really wants. And his mother, good as she is, is not,--well; I
don't know how to express it."
Helena looked over at him with a faint smile. "I thought goodness was
the finest thing in the world; I'm sure I used to be told so," she
ended dully.
"Of course, _you_ would feel that," the doctor protested; "and it
is, of course it is! Only, I can understand how a boy might feel. Down
at the Wrights' there was just nothing but plain goodness, oh, very
plain, Mrs. Richie. It was all bread-and-butter. Necessary; I'm the
last person to say that bread-and-butter isn't necessary. But you do
want cake, once in a while; I mean when you are young. Sam couldn't
help liking cake," he ended smiling.
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