"No, with a priest," corrected Mrs. Wilson, adjusting her domino about
her face.
"Elsie, how devilishly fond you are of making a fool of yourself," Dr.
Wilson observed jovially. "Well, good-night."
Mrs. Wilson swept him a profound courtesy, with her hands crossed on
her bosom.
"My lord and master, good-night. Ladies, remember that it will be Lent
in ten minutes."
She took Wynne's arm, and together the black-robed figures went down
the length of the room. The music had for the moment stopped, and it
seemed to Maurice as if his presence had brought a chill to the whole
gay scene. He was inwardly raging, angry to have been used by Mrs.
Wilson as an actor in her outrageous comedy, furious with Berenice for
her part in the play, full of rage against the men who stood around
grinning and laughing at the whole performance. Most of all, he assured
himself, he was righteously indignant at the trifling with sacred
things. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, but with Mrs.
Wilson sweeping along by his side he strode toward the door.
"He looks as if he belonged to the church militant," he heard one of
the men say as he passed out.
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