for the proletariat did not swarm at the gates of St. Cecilia’s.  Out of its liberal income the church maintained a “mission” upon the East Side, where young curates wrestled with the natural depravity of the lower classes—­meantime cultivating a soul-stirring tone, and waiting until they should be promoted to a real church.  Society was becoming deferential to its religious guides, and would have been quite shocked at the idea that it exerted any pressure upon them; but the young curates were painfully aware of a process of unnatural selection, whereby those whose manner and cut of coat were not pleasing were left a long time in the slums.—­On one occasion there had been an amusing blunder; a beautiful new church was built at Newport, and an eloquent young minister was installed, and all Society attended the opening service—­and sat and listened in consternation to an arraignment of its own follies and vices!  The next Sunday, needless to say, Society was not present; and within half a year the church was stranded, and had to be dismantled and sold!

They had elaborate music at St. Cecilia’s, so beautiful that Alice felt uncomfortable, and thought that it was perilously “high.”  At this Mrs. Winnie laughed, offering to take her to an afternoon service around the corner, where they had a full orchestra, and a harp, and opera music, and incense and genuflexions and confessionals.  There were people, it seemed, who like to thrill themselves by dallying with the wickedness of “Romanism”; somewhat as a small boy tries to see how near he can walk to the edge of a cliff.  The “father” at this church had a jewelled robe with a train so many yards long, and which had cost some incredible number of thousands of dollars; and every now and then he marched in a stately procession through the aisles, so that all the spectators might have a good look at it.  There was a fierce controversy about these things in the church, and libraries of pamphlets were written, and intrigues and social wars were fought over them.

But Montague and Alice did not attend this service—­they had promised themselves the very plebeian diversion of a ride in the subway; for so far they had not seen this feature of the city.  People who lived in Society saw Madison and Fifth Avenues, where their homes were, with the churches and hotels scattered along them; and the shopping district just below, and the theatre district at one side, and the park to the north.  Unless one went automobiling, that was all of the city one need ever see.  When visitors asked about the Aquarium, and the Stock Exchange, and the Museum of Art, and Tammany Hall, and Ellis Island, where the immigrants came, the old New Yorkers would look perplexed, and say:  “Dear me, do you really want to see those tilings?  Why, I have been here all my life, and have never seen them!”