little school children row upon
row. "Ugh! what a hole," thought Mrs. Failing, whose Christianity was
the type best described as "cathedral." "What a hole for a cultured
woman! I don't think it has blunted my sensations, though; I still
see its squalor as clearly as ever. And my nephew pretends he is
worshipping. Pah! the hypocrite." Above her the vicar spoke of the
danger of hurrying from one dissipation to another. She treasured his
words, and continued: "I cannot stand smugness. It is the one, the
unpardonable sin. Fresh air! The fresh air that has made Stephen Wonham
fresh and companionable and strong. Even if it kills, I will let in the
fresh air."

Thus reasoned Mrs. Failing, in the facile vein of Ibsenism. She imagined
herself to be a cold-eyed Scandinavian heroine. Really she was an
English old lady, who did not mind giving other people a chill provided
it was not infectious.

Agnes, on the way back, noted that her hostess was a little snappish.
But one is so hungry after morning service, and either so hot or so
cold, that he would be a saint indeed who becomes a saint at once. Mrs.
Failing, after asserting vindictively that it was impossible to make
a living out of literature, was courteously left alone. Roast-beef
and moselle might yet work miracles, and Agnes still hoped for the
introductions--the introductions to certain editors and publishers--on
which her whole diplomacy was bent. Rickie would not push himself. It
was his besetting sin. Well for him that he would have a wife, and a
loving wife, who knew the value of enterprise.

Unfortunately lunch was a quarter of an hour late, and during that
quarter of an hour the aunt and the nephew quarrelled. She had been
inveighing against the morning service, and he quietly and deliberately
replied, "If organized religion is anything--and it is something to
me--it will not be wrecked by a harmonium and a dull sermon."

Mrs. Failing frowned. "I envy you. It is a great thing to have no sense
of beauty."

"I think I have a sense of beauty, which leads me astray if I am not
careful."

"But this is a great relief to me. I thought the present day young man
was an agnostic! Isn't agnosticism all the thing at Cambridge?"

"Nothing is the 'thing' at Cambridge. If a few men are agnostic there,
it is for some grave reason, not because they are irritated with the way
the parson says his vowels."

Agnes intervened. "Well, I side with Aunt Emily. I believe in ritual."