"I understand, men will be men, though as a pure-minded woman, I'm sure I can't imagine why they should be."
"How far off is the nearest church?" I cut in.
"Only two blocks-that is, the Methodist church," she replied.
"But I know Mr. Ball will bring an Episcopalian."
"Why, I thought you were a devoted Presbyterian," said I, recalling how in their Brooklyn days she used to insist on Joe's going with her twice every Sunday to sleep through long sermons.
She looked uncomfortable. "I was reared Presbyterian," she explained, confusedly, "but you know how it is in New York. And when we came to live here, we got out of the habit of churchgoing.
And all Alva's little friends were Episcopalians. So I drifted toward that church. I find the service so satisfying-so-elegant.
And-one sees there the people one sees socially."
"How is your culture class?" I inquired, deliberately malicious, in my impatience and nervousness. "And do you still take conversation lessons?"
She was furiously annoyed.
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