"Displeased me!" said Marion, with a start of surprise. "No; why should you think so?"
"You look so grave."
"Do I? Perhaps I am displeased with myself, then. I did not know before that I was impressionable, and I find that I am. That vexes me. I detest impressionable people; I detest above all to feel that I myself am at the mercy of outward influences."
Helen looked all the wonder that she felt. "I don't understand what you mean." she said. "How have you found out that you are impressionable—I mean particularly so?"
Marion smiled slightly. "I am afraid you would not understand if I told you," she replied. "Or you would misunderstand, which is worse. But don't ask me to go to your church again, Helen. Something there—something about the services—affects me in a way I don't like. Nothing I should dislike so much as to become a mere emotional, susceptible creature; and I feel there as if I might."
"But, Marion," exclaimed Helen, half-shocked, half-eager, "surely our feelings are given, like everything else, to lead us to God! And, O Marion! how can you turn away from what may be the grace of God? For remember, God Himself was on the altar to-day!"
She uttered the last sentence in tones of reverent awe; but Marion frowned impatiently.
"It was because I knew you would not understand that I did not want to speak," she said. "What I am talking of is a mere matter of susceptibility to outward influences. It is disagreeable to me, and I do not wish to subject myself to it—that is all. I am never troubled in that way at the Episcopal services," she added, more lightly. "I shall go there in future."
CHAPTER VIII.