Very little whispering was done after that for some time.  Although Marion made light of her youthful dreams, there was a strong feeling of excitement and interest clustering around this first sight of the woman whose name she had known so long; and something in the fair, sweet face and cultured voice fascinated and held her, much as she had fancied in her earlier days would be the case.  She frowned when she heard the request to reporters to “lay aside their pencils.”  She had meant to earn laurels by reporting this delicious bit of imagery, set in between the graver sermons and lectures; but, after all, it was a rest to give herself up to the uninterrupted enjoyment of taking in every word and tone—­taking it in for her own private benefit.  “The Parish of Fair Haven.”  How heartily she enjoyed it.  The refined and delicate, and yet keen and intense satire underlying the whole quaint original story, was of just the nature to hold and captivate her.  She was just in the mood to enjoy it, too.  For was it not aimed at that class of people who awakened her own keenest sense of satire—­the so-called “Christian world”?  She did not belong to it, you know; in her own estimation was entirely without the pale of its sarcasm; stranded on a high and majestic rock of unbelief in everything, and in a condition to be amused at the follies of people who played at belief; and treated what they played was solemn realities as if they were cradle stories or nicely woven fiction.  There was no listener in all that crowd who so enjoyed the keen play of wit and the sharp home thrusts as did Marion Wilbur.  Ruth was a little undecided what to think; she did not belong to the class who were hit, to be sure, but her father always gave largely to missions whenever the solicitor called on him:  she had heard his name mentioned with respect as one of the most benevolent men of the day; she did not quite like the very low and matter-of-course place which Mrs. Miller’s view of the mission question gave him.  According to the people of Fair Haven, to give one’s thousands to the cause was the most commonplace thing in the world—­not to do so was to be an inhuman wretch.  Ruth didn’t quite like it—­in truth she was just enough within the circle of modern Christianity to feel herself slightly grazed by the satire.

“It is absurd,” she said to Marion as they went up the hill.  “What is the sense in a woman talking in that way?  As if people, were they ever so good and benevolent, could get themselves up in that ridiculous manner!  If we live in the world at all we have to have a little regard for propriety.  I wonder if she thinks one’s entire time and money should be devoted to the heathen?”

Marion answered her with spirit.