She looked at him out of her indomitable blue eyes, and said, “If it hadn’t been for your card, and the Reverend on it, I should have said you were an actor.”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Breckon, with a laugh, perhaps I am, in a way.  I oughtn’t to be, of course, but if a minister ever forces himself, I suppose he’s acting.”

“I don’t see,” said Lottie, instantly availing herself of the opening, “how you can get up and pray, Sunday after Sunday, whether you feel like it or not.”

The young man said, with another laugh, but not so gay, “Well, the case has its difficulties.”

“Or perhaps you just read prayers,” Lottie sharply conjectured.

“No,” he returned, “I haven’t that advantage—­if you think it one.  I’m a sort of a Unitarian.  Very advanced, too, I’m afraid.”

“Is that a kind of Universalist?”

“Not—­not exactly.  There’s an old joke—­I’m not sure it’s very good —­which distinguishes between the sects.  It’s said that the Universalists think God is too good to damn them, and the Unitarians think they are too good to be damned.”  Lottie shrank a little from him.  “Ah!” he cried, “you think it sounds wicked.  Well, I’m sorry.  I’m not clerical enough to joke about serious things.”

He looked into her face with a pretended anxiety.  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, with a little scorn.  “I guess if you can stand it, I can.”

“I’m not sure that I can.  I’m afraid it’s more in keeping with an actor’s profession than my own.  Why,” he added, as if to make a diversion, “should you have thought I was an actor?”

“I suppose because you were clean-shaved; and your pronunciation.  So Englishy.”

“Is it?  Perhaps I ought to be proud.  But I’m not an Englishman.  I am a plain republican American.  May I ask if you are English?”

“Oh!” said Lottie.  “As if you thought such a thing.  We’re from Ohio.”

Mr. Breckon said, “Ah!” Lottie could not make out in just what sense.

By this time they were leaning on the rail of the promenade, looking over at what little was left of Long Island, and she said, abruptly:  “I think I will go and see how my father is getting along.”

“Oh, do take me with you, Miss Kenton!” Mr:  Breckon entreated.  “I am feeling very badly about that poor old joke.  I know you don’t think well of me for it, and I wish to report what I’ve been saying to your father, and let him judge me.  I’ve heard that it’s hard to live up to Ohio people when you’re at your best, and I do hope you’ll believe I have not been quite at my best.  Will you let me come with you?”

Lottie did not know whether he was making fun of her or not, but she said, “Oh, it’s a free country,” and allowed him to go with her.

His preface made the judge look rather grave; but when he came to the joke, Kenton laughed and said it was not bad.

“Oh, but that isn’t quite the point,” said Mr. Breckon.  “The question is whether I am good in repeating it to a young lady who was seeking serious instruction on a point of theology.”