ington intimated that she had not yet sufficient data to
decide. "But," she added, solemnly, "she is not a. Presbyterian."

"She goes to church."

"Yes. She was quite frank about that. She did not scruple to say that
she goes to please Miss Campion and because 'it is all so new.'"

"New?"

"Exactly what I said to her. I said, 'New?' My dear, what you do
mean--new?' And she tipped her eyebrows in that oriental way she has
and said, 'Why, just new. I have never been to church, you know!'"

"Oh, impossible--in this country!"

"Yes, imagine it! Perhaps she saw my disapproval for she added, 'We had
a prayer-book in the house, though.' As if it were quite the same
thing."

One of the more optimistic members of the chorus thought that this
might show some connection with the Church of England. But Mrs.
Pennington shook her head.

"Hardly, I think. Her language was not such as to encourage such a
hope. The very next thing she said to me was, 'Don't you think the
prayer-book is lovely?'"

"Oh!--not really?"

"I admit I was shocked. I am not," said Mrs. Pennington, "a Church of
England woman. But I am broad-minded, I hope. And I have more respect
for ANY sacred work than to speak of it as 'lovely.' In fact, in all
kindness, I must say that I fear the poor child is a veritable heathen."

This conclusion was felt to be sound, logically, but without great
practical significance. The veritable heathen persisted in church-going
to such an extent that she tired out several of the most orthodox and
it was rumored that she even went so far as to discuss the sermon
afterward. "Just as if," said Mrs. Pennington, "it were a lecture or a
play or something."

As a matter of fact, Desire was intensely interested in sermons. She
had so seldom heard any that the weekly doling out of truth by the Rev.
Mr. McClintock had all the fascination of a new experience. Mr.
McClintock was of the type which does not falter in its message. He had
no doubts. He had thought out every possible spiritual problem as a
young man and had seen no reason for thinking them out a second time.
What he had accepted at twenty, he believed at sixty, with this
difference that while at twenty some of his conclusions had caused him
sleepless nights, at sixty they were accepted with complacency. No
questioning pierced the hard enamel of his assurance. He saw no second
side to anything because he never turned it over. He had a way of
saying "I believe" which was