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She flushed celestial red, and for an instant her eyes responded to the
love in his. Then she sprang to her feet, with a laugh.
"There!" she cried. "See what dunces we are to get to discussing
theology. I'll never forgive you if you try to inveigle me into another
talk about such subjects. Here is Mehitabel to say that she's ready to
help you with your packing."

XVI

THE GREAT ASSAY OF ART
Macbeth, iv. 3.

"I am sorry if I kept you waiting," Mrs. Wilson said to her husband,
coming into the library one afternoon, "but the fact is that I was
dressing for a comedy." "Gad! you dress for a comedy every day, as
far as that goes."
She made a mocking courtesy.
"Well, what is life without comedy?"
"Oh, nothing but a bore, of course. Is this comedy with some of your
ministerial hangers-on?"
She sat down by the fire and stretched out her feet upon a hassock. She
was radiant with beauty and mischief, and dressed to perfection.
"That isn't a respectful way to speak of the clergy."
"It's as respectful as I feel," he responded, lighting a pipe.


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