"All the same, it is better she should think about poor people than
about religion."
"Far better, Sir Owen, far better. Sometimes I'm afraid she will
bring back things upon her. She comes back tired and sleeps; but
when she spends her time in churches thinking of her sins, or what
she imagines to be sins, Sir Owen, I hear her walking about her room
at night, and in the morning she tells me she hasn't slept at all."
"What you tell me is very serious, Merat. All the same, all the same--
jackets and coats for Paddy Sullivan's children. Well, it is very
touching. There never was anybody quite so good, do you think there
was, Merat?"
"That is the reason why we all love her; and you do, too, Sir Owen,
though you pretend to hate goodness and to despise--"
"No, Merat, no. Tell mademoiselle, if she wakes, that I am coming
back to see her this evening late--the later the better, I suppose,
for she is not likely to fall asleep again once she awakes."
Merat mentioned between nine and ten o'clock, and, to distract his
thoughts, Owen went to the theatre that evening, and was glad to
leave it at ten, before the play was over.
"Is she awake?"
"She has been awake some time.
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