To this he made no reply; but the somewhat chill dignity of the silence which ensued provoked, alas, an even more unfortunate question.
"Alfred, I know you'll consider me perfectly awfully impossible, but it's been such a long time.... I've forgotten—I really have.... It—it isn't Methodist, is it ...?"
"Methodist, Marjory?"
"What I mean is, you're not.... Oh, Alfred, for heaven's sake before I simply explode with chagrin, do quickly tell me what you are!"
"My denomination?" he asked unhappily.
"That's the word! Do please forgive a poor creature who's lived so long in out-of-the-way places that she's half forgotten how to be civilized!"
"There are certain things," the Rev. Needham told himself icily, "one never quite forgets, unless one...." He started a little, raised his eyes wanly to hers, but shifted them quickly to the landscape. "I am a Congregational minister, Marjory," he said.
"Oh, dear me! Of course! I'm sure I remembered subconsciously. Don't you think such a thing is possible?"
"You mean ...?" He seemed unable fully to concentrate, either—though not primarily because this was a resort.
"I mean remembering subconsciously. But you see it's all because in Tahulamaji we get so fearfully lax about everything."