"
"I'm not indifferent to it," answered Joan. "I'm reckoning on it to help
me."
"Why not?" she continued, with a flash of defiance, though Madge had not
spoken. "It is a weapon like any other--knowledge, intellect, courage.
God has given me beauty. I shall use it in His service."
They formed a curious physical contrast, these two women in this moment.
Joan, radiant, serene, sat upright in her chair, her head slightly thrown
back, her fine hands clasping one another so strongly that the delicate
muscles could be traced beneath the smooth white skin. Madge, with
puckered brows, leant forward in a crouching attitude, her thin nervous
hands stretched out towards the fire.
"How does one know when one is serving God?" she asked after a pause,
apparently rather of herself than of Joan. "It seems so difficult."
"One feels it," explained Joan.
"Yes, but didn't they all feel it," Madge suggested. She still seemed to
be arguing with herself rather than with Joan. "Nietzsche. I have been
reading him. They are forming a Nietzsche Society to give lectures about
him--propagate him over here.
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