"Is n't there?" asked Pam; and then quickly: "... Of course, I did n't think there would be. Why should there?"
"Ha! Pam, Pam, Pam!" said his Reverence, raising his hand from the counter, and wagging a monitory loose forefinger at her. "All the doctrine of Church Catholic can't drive the first woman out of you quite, I fear. Curiosity in that little breast of yours is a blackbird in a linnet's cage, and may break away through the bars."
Pam looked up from her pot-hooks sideways and laughed the soft, musical confession of guilt.
"All that was said about you last night," his Reverence assured her, "had to do with your music...."
"But you never told him," said Pam, locking her knuckles with a sudden alarm against the impending disclosure, and straining them backwards over her knee.
"To be sure I did."
"Oh!" said Pain, and dipped her face into her basined fingers a second time. "... That 's dreadful. Now he 'll come to church."
Father Mostyn stroked a severe, judicial chin. "Is that so dreadful? ... to go to church? You would n't have him go to chapel?"
"No, no," said Pam. "Not if he did n't want. But he never went ... anywhere before. And now he 'll laugh."
"In church? ... I think not."