“There, Arthur! now that you are reasonable, I’ll tell you what I meant.”
The artist looked over his shoulder and laughed.
“Go on, dear aunt.”
“I understand now why you don’t go to our church.”
It was a remark so totally unexpected that Arthur stopped short and turned quite round.
“What do you mean, Aunt Winnifred?”
“I mean,” said she, holding up the study as if to overwhelm him with resistless proof, “I mean, Arthur—and I could cry as I say it—that you are a Roman Catholic!”
Aunt Winnifred, who was an exemplary member of the Dutch Reformed Church, or, as Arthur gayly called her to her face, a Dutch Deformed Woman, was too simple and sincere in her religious faith to tolerate with equanimity the thought that any one of the name of Merlin should be domiciled in the House of Sin, as she poetically described the Church of Rome.
“Arthur! Arthur! and your father a clergyman. It’s too dreadful!”
And the tender-hearted woman burst into tears.