in historical perspective with Rome and Greece, and he has a fascinating chapter on the Justinian Code..."
"Oh, Dexter, you're hopeless the moment anyone mentions anything about law!" Rosalie interrupted him sharply. "You think any statute, passed by no matter what barbarians, is a justification for damming up the smallest trickle of Christian charity!"
Both Joanna and Dexter looked shocked at this unwonted acerbity. There was a moment of silence.
"Well, you'll have a chance to convert Mr. Halsted from his views," Joanna informed her. "I've seated you next to him."
"Jo, how could you? I thought you were a good abolitionist!"
"Don't mention that word before Father!" Joanna exclaimed with mock terror. "Anyway, I want you to listen to Mr. Halsted."
"Whatever for?"
"It helps to know how the enemy thinks."
Joanna seemed to be trying to look mysterious. She crossed the room to speak to the minister. Rosalie could see by their glances that they were talking about her.
The dining room doors were now opened, and the guests went in to lunch. Rosalie observed that her clerical neighbor closed his eyes devoutly while her father said grace. But with the "amen" he came awake with a spring, and delivered an elegant little speech about his admiration of Mr. Handy. It was impossible for her not to respond to this politely, and she found herself engaged in a benign discussion of the blessings of the relationship between fathers and daughters.
He was certainly amiable to look at. He had gentle eyes, sky blue; they peered at her with diffidence, almost with timidity, as if they hoped, or even suspected, that she might be amused, sympathetic, or even downright funny, but as if, too, they were ready to take flight and bound away like a bunny should she prove in the least bit unfriendly. His skin was light and his hair blond; it was only in the two long concentric lines on either side of his very red lips and in the darkness under his eyes that she could tell that he was in his middle, perhaps even late thirties. It was extraordinary that a doctrine so repellent should be lodged in so fair a form.
Suddenly he changed the subject and looked at her with an anxious expectancy that she was at a loss to interpret.
"Your sister tells me that you disapprove of me."
"Oh, we'll never get on if we discuss your book, Mr. Halsted," she assured him hastily. "I suggest we talk about the aims of the French emperor in Italy."
"But I don't mind people disagreeing with me. I don't mind at all."
"It would be more than disagreement, I'm afraid. I might even forget I'm a lady. So please. Do you think we can trust the Emperor Napoleon?"
"You mean you might become abusive?"
She had certainly not anticipated such insistency. "Feelings run high about slavery. As you, of all people, should have discovered, Mr. Halsted."
"But can't we still love each other?"
"Love each other?" She allowed her tone to be startled. There was something in the softness of his voice that seemed to suggest a more than Christian warmth.
"Doesn't Christ tell us to love each other?" he asked.
"I might find it difficult to love a priest who preaches that Christ preaches slavery."
"Preaches it? I never suggested that. I said that slavery was not abhorrent to nature. That it is the way in which a weak and undeveloped race may be usefully employed by a stronger one. In an ideal society slavery would disappear. And it
will
disappear, dear Mrs. Fairchild, believe me. It
will.
" As she stared at him, half-hypnotized by his gentle, persevering tone, she made out two yellow gleams in the center of his eyes. "In the meanwhile, so long as the slave is loved by his master, I believe that Christ condones his condition."
"And how many slaves are loved by their masters?"
"More than we know of, I hope. More than we know of, I pray."
"Well, you had better pray long and hard, Mr. Halsted!" Rosalie exclaimed, giving vent at last to her swelling anger. "And may I remind you that I am doing my
"Oh, Dexter, you're hopeless the moment anyone mentions anything about law!" Rosalie interrupted him sharply. "You think any statute, passed by no matter what barbarians, is a justification for damming up the smallest trickle of Christian charity!"
Both Joanna and Dexter looked shocked at this unwonted acerbity. There was a moment of silence.
"Well, you'll have a chance to convert Mr. Halsted from his views," Joanna informed her. "I've seated you next to him."
"Jo, how could you? I thought you were a good abolitionist!"
"Don't mention that word before Father!" Joanna exclaimed with mock terror. "Anyway, I want you to listen to Mr. Halsted."
"Whatever for?"
"It helps to know how the enemy thinks."
Joanna seemed to be trying to look mysterious. She crossed the room to speak to the minister. Rosalie could see by their glances that they were talking about her.
The dining room doors were now opened, and the guests went in to lunch. Rosalie observed that her clerical neighbor closed his eyes devoutly while her father said grace. But with the "amen" he came awake with a spring, and delivered an elegant little speech about his admiration of Mr. Handy. It was impossible for her not to respond to this politely, and she found herself engaged in a benign discussion of the blessings of the relationship between fathers and daughters.
He was certainly amiable to look at. He had gentle eyes, sky blue; they peered at her with diffidence, almost with timidity, as if they hoped, or even suspected, that she might be amused, sympathetic, or even downright funny, but as if, too, they were ready to take flight and bound away like a bunny should she prove in the least bit unfriendly. His skin was light and his hair blond; it was only in the two long concentric lines on either side of his very red lips and in the darkness under his eyes that she could tell that he was in his middle, perhaps even late thirties. It was extraordinary that a doctrine so repellent should be lodged in so fair a form.
Suddenly he changed the subject and looked at her with an anxious expectancy that she was at a loss to interpret.
"Your sister tells me that you disapprove of me."
"Oh, we'll never get on if we discuss your book, Mr. Halsted," she assured him hastily. "I suggest we talk about the aims of the French emperor in Italy."
"But I don't mind people disagreeing with me. I don't mind at all."
"It would be more than disagreement, I'm afraid. I might even forget I'm a lady. So please. Do you think we can trust the Emperor Napoleon?"
"You mean you might become abusive?"
She had certainly not anticipated such insistency. "Feelings run high about slavery. As you, of all people, should have discovered, Mr. Halsted."
"But can't we still love each other?"
"Love each other?" She allowed her tone to be startled. There was something in the softness of his voice that seemed to suggest a more than Christian warmth.
"Doesn't Christ tell us to love each other?" he asked.
"I might find it difficult to love a priest who preaches that Christ preaches slavery."
"Preaches it? I never suggested that. I said that slavery was not abhorrent to nature. That it is the way in which a weak and undeveloped race may be usefully employed by a stronger one. In an ideal society slavery would disappear. And it
will
disappear, dear Mrs. Fairchild, believe me. It
will.
" As she stared at him, half-hypnotized by his gentle, persevering tone, she made out two yellow gleams in the center of his eyes. "In the meanwhile, so long as the slave is loved by his master, I believe that Christ condones his condition."
"And how many slaves are loved by their masters?"
"More than we know of, I hope. More than we know of, I pray."
"Well, you had better pray long and hard, Mr. Halsted!" Rosalie exclaimed, giving vent at last to her swelling anger. "And may I remind you that I am doing my
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