upon
those whose fate we have every reason to believe is settled once and for
all."

The lady who always quarrelled with her on this subject rose to
the occasion. Peggy, soothing them down, said mechanically, "There
now.... Three lumps, Peter?... Micky, one doesn't suck napkin rings;
naughty."

Peter was appealed to by his neighbour, who knew that he occasionally
attended St. Austin's church. People were always drawing him into
theological discussions, which he knew nothing at all about.

"Mr. Peter, isn't that against all reason, to stop praying for our
friends merely because they've passed through the veil?"

"Yes," Peter agreed. "I should have thought so." But all he really
thought was that beyond the veil was such darkness that he never looked
into it, and that it was a pity people should argue on a holiday.

"Now," said someone else, wishing to be a peace-maker, "I'm afraid you'll
all say I'm very naughty, but _I_ attend the early Mass at St. Austin's,
high Mass at the Roman church"--she nodded at Peggy--"and the City Temple
in the evening"--she smiled at the commercial traveller, who was believed
to be a New Theologian. "Aren't I naughty, now?"

Mademoiselle, the French governess, came down at this point, saying she
had had a dream about a hat with pink roses. The peace-making lady said,
"Bad little thing, she's quite frisky this morning." Hilary, to whom
Mademoiselle was the last straw, left the room.

Rhoda followed his example. She had sat very silent, as usual, over
breakfast, eating little. Peter came out with her, and followed her into
the sitting-room, where she stood listlessly playing with the tassel of
the blind. Rhoda was thinner than ever, and floppier, and took even less
pains to be neat. She had left off her beads, but had not replaced them
by a collar.

Peter said, "Are you coming out with me this morning?"

She replied, listless and uncaring, "If you like."

"We might go," said Peter, "and see if the New English Art Club is open
on Sunday mornings. And then we'll go on the river. Shall we?"

She assented again. "Very well."

A moment later she sighed, and said wearily, "How it does go on, day
after day, doesn't it!"

Peter said it did.

"On and on," said Rhoda. "Same stupid people saying the same stupid old
things. I do wonder they don't get tired. They don't _know_ anything, do
they?"

Rhoda's hankering was still after Great Minds.

"They're funny sometimes," suggested Peter