MANSERS

The introduction of Mrs. David Arnold Duke, nee Methodist, to the members of her husband’s Presbyterian flock, was, for the most part, consummated with grace and dignity.  Only one untoward incident lingered in her memory to cloud her lovely face with annoyance.

In honor of his very first honeymoon, hence his first opportunity to escort a beautiful and blushing bride to the cozy little manse he had so painstakingly prepared for her reception, the Reverend David indulged in the unwonted luxury of a taxicab.  And happy in the consciousness of being absolutely correct as to detail, they were driven slowly down the beautifully shaded avenues of the Heights, one of the many charming suburbs of St. Louis,—­aware of the scrutiny of interested eyes from the sheltering curtains of many windows.

Being born and bred in the ministry, Carol acquitted herself properly before the public eye.  But once inside the guarding doors of the darling manse, secure from the condemning witness of even the least of the fold, she danced and sang and exulted as the very young, and very glad, must do to find expression.

Their first dinner in the manse was more of a social triumph than a culinary success.  The coffee was nectar, though a trifle overboiled.  The gravy was sweet as honey, but rather inclined to be lumpy.  And the steak tasted like fried chicken, though Carol had peppered it twice and salted it not at all.  It wasn’t her fault, however, for the salt and pepper shakers in her “perfectly irresistible” kitchen cabinet were exactly alike,—­and how was she to know she was getting the same one twice?

Anyhow, although they started very properly with plates on opposite sides of the round table, by the time they reached dessert their chairs were just half way round from where they began the meal, and the salad dishes were so close together that half the time they ate from one and half the time from the other.  And when it was all over, they pushed the dishes back and clasped their hands promiscuously together and talked with youthful passion of what they were going to do, and how wonderful their opportunity for service was, and what revolutions they were going to work in the lives of the nice, but no doubt prosy mansers, and how desperately they loved each other.  And it was going to last forever and ever and ever.

So far they were just Everybride and Everygroom.  Their hearts sang and the manse was more gorgeous than any mansion on earth, and all the world was good and sweet, and they couldn’t possibly ever make any kind of a mistake or blunder, for love was guiding them,—­and could pure love lead astray?

David at last looked at his watch and said, rather hurriedly: 

“By the way, I imagine a few of our young people will drop in to-night for a first smile from the manse lady.”

Carol leaped from her chair, jerked off the big kitchen apron, and flew up the stairs with never a word.  When David followed more slowly, he found her already painstakingly dusting her matchless skin with velvety powder.