Part 45 (2/2)

”No, with a priest,” corrected Mrs. Wilson, adjusting her domino about her face.

”Elsie, how devilishly fond you are of making a fool of yourself,” Dr.

Wilson observed jovially. ”Well, good-night.”

Mrs. Wilson swept him a profound courtesy, with her hands crossed on her bosom.

”My lord and master, good-night. Ladies, remember that it will be Lent in ten minutes.”

She took Wynne's arm, and together the black-robed figures went down the length of the room. The music had for the moment stopped, and it seemed to Maurice as if his presence had brought a chill to the whole gay scene. He was inwardly raging, angry to have been used by Mrs.

Wilson as an actor in her outrageous comedy, furious with Berenice for her part in the play, full of rage against the men who stood around grinning and laughing at the whole performance. Most of all, he a.s.sured himself, he was righteously indignant at the trifling with sacred things. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, but with Mrs.

Wilson sweeping along by his side he strode toward the door.

”He looks as if he belonged to the church militant,” he heard one of the men say as he pa.s.sed out.

”Even the church militant is nothing against a woman,” another replied, catching the eye of Mrs. Wilson, and laughing.

In the vestibule stood a footman bearing Maurice's cloak, and a maid with fur over-shoes and an ermine-lined wrap for Mrs. Wilson. Maurice said not a word except to reply in monosyllables to the questions of his companion, and almost in silence they drove to the Church of the Nativity.

XXVII

UPON A CHURCH BENCH Much Ado about Nothing, iii. 3.

The music of the Church of the Nativity was most elaborate, the very French millinery of sacred music. The selection of a new singer was debated with a zeal which spoke volumes for the interest in the service of the sanctuary, and the money expended in this part of the wors.h.i.+p would have supported two or three poorer congregations. The church, moreover, was appointed with a richness beautiful to see. The vestments might have moved the envy of high Roman prelates, and the altar plate shone in gold and precious stones.

It was no wonder, then, that a midnight service at the Nativity attracted a crowd. Mrs. Wilson and Wynne had to force a path between ranks of curious sight-seers in order to make their way to the guarded pew of the former, which was well up the main aisle. It came to Maurice suddenly that in his angry mood he was pus.h.i.+ng against these wors.h.i.+pers rudely, and that he was venting upon them a fury which had rather increased than diminished in his ride to the church. He was seething with anger; anger against Mrs. Wilson for having put him in a ludicrous position, at Berenice for her mockery, at Mrs. Staggchase for her satire, and at all the frivolous fools who had stood around, grinning to see him made ridiculous. His hurt vanity throbbed with an ache intolerable, and as he forced his way between the crowding spectators he felt a certain ugly joy in thrusting them aside.

He was recalled to self-control by the expression in the face of a girl whom he pressed back to give Mrs. Wilson pa.s.sage. She turned to him with a look of surprise and pain, and to his excited fancy her hair in the half shadow was like that of Berenice.

”You hurt me!” she exclaimed.

”I beg your pardon,” he answered with instant compunction. ”I did not mean to. Come with me.”

He yielded to the sudden impulse, and then reflected as they pa.s.sed down the aisle that he had no right to bring a stranger into Mrs.

Wilson's pew. Having invited her, however, it was impossible to retract, and he showed her into the slip after Mrs. Wilson. As the latter turned to sit down, she became aware of the stranger. She paused, and looked at her with haughty surprise.

”I beg pardon,” she said, ”this is a private pew.”

The girl flushed, looking inquiringly at Maurice. His masculine nature resented the insolence of the glance with which Mrs. Wilson had swept the stranger, and he came instantly to the rescue.

”I invited her,” he said, leaning forward, speaking with a determination at which his hostess raised her eyebrows.

”Oh, very well then,” Mrs. Wilson murmured.

She sank into her seat, and inclined her head on the rail before her.

<script>