s for the lame and the halt and
blind, the poor and the sick and the friendless, isn't it?"

He nodded, feeling curiously uncomfortable. He did not like to have his
mission in life subjected to such matter-of-fact analysis, and besides,
it filled him with a vague interrogation.

"Well, what will this wonderful church do for the poor and the...."

"We are to have a gymnasium and a library and...."

"What nonsense," she snapped. "You're going to have them all miles from
the nearest poor. That's an absurd answer."

"Judith, what _is_ the matter?" he pleaded. "You were never like this
before."

She ignored the question.

"Why aren't you honest?" she countered. "Why don't you admit that it's
all for the Wynrods, and the Wolcotts and the Warings and the ... why
don't you admit that it's just a monument to pride, pure and simple?"

He was aghast. Also he was offended, to the depths of his soul. She had
trampled deliberately on what was dear to him, and subtly, but no less
certainly, she had made an implication which roused in him all the
resentment of which he was capable. But the very thought of resentment
brought with it the recollection of all his professional training.
Arnold Imrie was perilously close to a very human display of temper, but
the Reverend Arnold saved him.

"For some reason," he said slowly, in a manner that to her savoured of
the pulpit, "you seem unwilling to discuss this matter reasonably. I
don't think you are fair to it--or to me--which is unlike you. Some
other time, when you are in a different mood, we will perhaps talk about
it again." He rolled up his plans and rose. "I will bid you good
evening, Judith."

"Very properly rebuked," laughed Judith insolently. "I admire your
self control. But you're so proper, Arnold. If you were only a little
more ... oh, well--but I haven't been condemning _you_--entirely.
It's what you stand for. It isn't that you're a snob--but you're
being--doing--oh, I'd like to put things as clearly as you can. I'd make
you understand me, if I only knew how to. But I...."

"I think I understand very well," he interrupted sharply. A thought, a
half-formulated suspicion, had flitted across his mind.

"No, you don't. You think I'm poking fun at you--just to be nasty. It
isn't that. I'm serious--really. Only somehow--you don't impress me as
much as you used to. You--your ideas--what you stand for--oh, they don't
seem to very much matter. Your kind of religion seems to