"Monica, you don't really think that I ought to speak of that," she stammered. Not even to her sister could she bring herself to utter the sacramental word.
"I certainly think you should," said Monica. "When you and Guy are married it would be terrible if your duties were to be the cause of a disagreement. Why, he might even persuade you to give up going to Confession."
"Darling Monica," said Pauline nervously, "I'd rather you didn't talk about this any more. You see, you're so much better than I and you've thought so much more deeply than I have about religion. I don't think I shall ever be able to make my faith so narrow a ... so strict a rule as yours is. No, please, Monica, don't let us talk about this subject any more."
"I only mentioned it because I'm afraid that with your beautiful nature you will be too merciful to that Guy of yours."
"Oh, and I'd really rather you didn't say my nature was beautiful," Pauline protested. "Truthfully, Monica, darling, it's a very ugly nature indeed, and I'm afraid it's getting uglier every day."
Her sister's cloistral smile flickered upon the scene like the wan February sunlight.
"I do hope Guy really appreciates you," was what she said.
"See how the sparrows have pulled the crocuses into ribbons," Pauline exclaimed. And so that Monica could not talk to her any more, she hailed her father, who was wandering along toward the house on the other side of the lawn. When he sauntered across to them she pointed out the destructiveness of the sparrows.
"Ah, well, my dear," he chuckled, "most florists are worse."
"Perhaps I'm a florist," Monica whispered, "and Guy may be only a mischievous sparrow."