e contracted, at least as to the preliminary stages,
under the eaves of this or that church.

The vestibule was crowded this Sunday evening, as was customary, when
Aurora Lane, quite alone, turned in from the sidewalk and ascended the
eight broad wooden steps up to the church door. Passing thence to the
inner door, she felt the silence which came upon the boys and young men
who loitered there, waiting for the entrance or the exit of those of the
opposite sex. She felt the stares which fell upon her--felt, rather than
saw, the icy disapproval which greeted her even here, even among these.
But she passed by, entered the house of worship, and sank into a seat
very far back in the long, bare, ghastly, rectangular room.

Before or after the entry of Aurora Lane, there failed not in coming
those who sit in judgment upon the lives of their fellows--the baker,
the butcher, the school teacher, the hanger of paper, the maker of
candlesticks as well. All these were here, parts of the life of this
community. Miss Julia was not there, as Aurora Lane discovered. She
wondered dully if it had not been her duty to go around to the library
and ask for Miss Julia; but the longing for personal solitude had been
as strong in her heart as the longing for silent human companionship, so
she had come alone. In truth Miss Julia was recreant tonight. She was
alone in her own room--alone with her diary--that is to say, face to
face with the picture of the same man whom Aurora Lane had met that
afternoon.

In the slowly filling pews there reigned now silence, broken only by the
shuffling footfalls of the arrivals, that uneasy, solemn silence which
holds those seated and waiting for the services at church. A school
teacher who was born in the East somewhere leaned her head forward on
the back of the seat before her, and with a certain ostentation prayed,
or seemed to pray. Others would have done this very fetching thing as
well, but lacked the courage, so sat coldly, stiffly, unhappily, bolt
upright, awaiting the arrival of the minister.

The tenor came after a time, soon following the soprano, models alike of
social graces and correct attire. They passed modestly, seemingly
unregardful of the glances bent upon them. The bass singer was more
conscious of his ill-fitting clothes as he hurried up the aisle, his
Adam's apple agitated, betokening his lack of ease. The soprano by this
time was shaking out her curls, fussing among the music sheets at t