Andrea's, at vespers," said that dear, bungling
fellow, Eric, at dinner that night, "and saw you Mae, but you were so
busy with your prayers I came away." There was a pause, and Mae knew
that people looked at her.
"Yes, I was there; the music was wonderful."
"Mae," asked Mrs. Jerrold, "Do you have to go to a Roman Catholic Church
to say your prayers?" For Mrs. Jerrold was a Puritan of the Puritans,
and had breathed in the shorter catechism and the doctrine of election
with the mountain air and sea-salt of her childhood. Possibly the two
former had had as much to do as the latter with her angularity and
severe strength.
"Indeed," cried Mae, impulsively, "I wish I could always enter a church
to say my prayers. There is so much to help one there."
"Is there any danger of your becoming a Romanist?" enquired Mrs.
Jerrold, pushing the matter further.
"I wish there were a chance of my becoming anything half as good, but I
am afraid there isn't. Still, I turn with an occasional loyal heart-beat
to the great Mother Church, that the rest of you have all run away
from.
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