“Well—­of course—­that is true in a way—­Allan does attract attention the moment he reaches the pavement—­and of course every one stares at one—­but it isn’t the poor fellow’s fault.  At least, if the boy were at all conscious of it he might in very little ways here and there prevent the very tiniest bit of it—­but, my dear, your husband is a man of most striking appearance—­especially in the clerical garb—­even on that avenue over there where striking persons abound—­and it’s not to be helped.  And I can’t wonder he’s not pleased with you when it gives him such pleasure to have a modish and handsome young woman at his side.  I met him the other day walking down from Forty-second Street with that stunning-looking Mrs. Wyeth, and he looked as happy and bubbling as a schoolboy.”

“Oh—­Aunt Bell—­but of course, if you don’t see, I couldn’t possibly tell you.”  She turned suddenly to her letter, as if to dismiss the hopeless task.

Now Aunt Bell, being entirely human, would not keep silence under an intimation that her powers of discernment were less than phenomenal.  The tone of her reply, therefore, hinted of much.

“My child—­I may see and gather and understand much more than I give any sign of.”

It was a wretchedly empty boast.  Doubtless it had never been true of Aunt Bell at any time in her life, but she was nettled now:  one must present frowning fortifications at a point where one is attacked, even if they be only of pasteboard.  Then, too, a random claim to possess hidden fruits of observation is often productive.  Much reticence goes down before it.

Nancy turned to her again with a kind of relief in her face.

“Oh, Aunt Bell, I was sure of it—­I couldn’t tell you, but I was sure you must see!” Her pen was thrown aside and she drooped in her chair, her hands listless in her lap.

Aunt Bell looked sympathetically voluble but wisely refrained from speech.

“I wonder,” continued the girl, “if you knew at the time, the time when my eyes seemed to open—­when I was deceived by his pretension into thinking—­you remember that first sermon, Aunt Bell—­how independent and noble I thought it was going to be.  Oh, Aunt Bell—­what a slump in my faith that day!  I think its foundations all went, and then naturally the rest of it just seemed to topple.  Did you realise it all the time?”

So it was religious doubt—­a loss of faith—­heterodoxy?  Having listened until she gathered this much, Aunt Bell broke in—­“My dear, you must let me guide you in this.  You know what I’ve been through.  Study the higher criticism, reverently, if you will—­even broaden into the higher unbelief.  Times have changed since my youth; one may broaden into almost anything now and still be orthodox, especially in our church.  But beware of the literal mind, the material view of things.  Remember that the essentials of Christianity are spiritually historic even if they aren’t materially historic—­facts