“Miss Arran,” Lilian said on Sunday morning, “do you think I might take mother to that little Chapel in Chester street. I think she would feel more at home there.”
“Oh, certainly. Mrs. Barrington insists that the girls shall attend at least one service a Sunday. Then there is the Bible Class here, which she makes very interesting. She and many of the girls go to Trinity, but I like the Chapel a good deal myself. It is a Methodist, you know.”
“Yes, mother was used to that service.”
So they went together, though Louie Howe said—“We’ll manage it so Beauty and the Beast will walk together,” but she missed her plan.
It was a very simple and sweet service and the sermon was on hidden sins. Lilian wondered if hers was undue pride, the desire to rise above her station? She glanced at her mother. The tears were coursing silently down her sunken cheeks. Was she missing the love a daughter ought to give? She looked so frail and delicate that the girl’s heart went out to her as it never had before.
In the vestibule stood a sweet faced young woman waiting while an elderly lady was talking to her friend. She came near and held out her hand in a friendly manner.
“You are a stranger here, but we are very glad to welcome you,” she began cordially.
“You are one of the Seminary young ladies, I saw you on the porch one day when I was passing.”
“Yes,” Lilian returned, then added “in a way. And this is my mother, Mrs. Boyd.”
“And I am Miss Trenham. This is my mother.” The two ladies shook hands in an old-fashioned manner.