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As a member of the Congregation I kept the promise I gave you to read your book, particularly the incriminated pages. And if I afterwards remained neutral, to such a point even as to miss the sitting in which judgment was pronounced, it was only to please my poor, dear niece, who was so fond of you, and who pleaded your cause to me."
And then I went to see him afterwards, in the parish house you remember? after we had been reading modern criticism together, and he told me that the faith which had come down from the fathers was like an egg? It couldn't be chipped. I was awfully disappointed and yet I couldn't help liking him, he was so honest. And the theological books he gave me to read which were so mediaeval and absurd!
I suppose it was the South which gave the social tone; the intellectual taste among the elders was the Southern taste for the classic and the standard in literature; but we who were younger preferred the modern authors: we read Thackeray, and George Eliot, and Hawthorne, and Charles Reade, and De Quincey, and Tennyson, and Browning, and Emerson, and Longfellow, and I I read Heine, and evermore Heine, when there was not some new thing from the others.
And, now, what was the inscription? While I was cleaning the glass I almost took pains not to read the lettering, saving up the treat until I had got the whole thing clear. And when that was done, my dear Gregory, I assure you I could almost have cried from sheer disappointment. What I read was only the most hopeless jumble of letters that was ever shaken up in a hat. Here it is: Job. St John.
His every entrance into the house became a hideous insult. She felt that it was herself who was the kept woman and not the other. She longed to take the documents and visit the Reverend Doctor Mosely with them, make him read them and tell her if he still thought it was her duty to endure such infamy.
Then it flashed upon him that he had received a letter once before addressed in the same way the letter from the League about Barry. Was this, too, from that address? He opened it. It was. He read it, and gasped. The worst had happened. The gold bat was in the hands of the enemy.
It was in her eyes that he read her meaning, and yet could not credit it. He was abashed ashamed; nay, he could not define the feeling in his breast. He knew that what he read was the true interpretation of her speech, for in some manner he guessed not how she had begun to idealize him, to feel that the touch of these things defiled him.
But to live with him after this, to smear over a deadly wound and pretend it was healed, to read hourly in his face the cowardly triumph over her weakness, to submit herself Oh, what rescue from this hideous degradation! She went to the window, as if it had been possible to escape by that way; she turned again and stood moaning, with her hands about her head.
But those who knew the beautiful girl intimately could read much to admire in the depth of her great dark eyes, and she was not the least interesting of the three nieces whose fortunes had been so greatly influenced by Aunt Jane and Uncle John Merrick. But Patricia Doyle usually called "Patsy" by her friends was after all the general favorite with strangers and friends alike.
Miss Jenny told them, that she had by her a fairy-tale, which, if they liked it, she would read; and, as it had pleased her, she did not doubt but it would give them equal pleasure.
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