“I'm sorry,” she said, “but I have to go to my Sunday-school class in a few minutes, and I was just getting my lesson ready. Would you like me to get you something to read?”
“No,” he answered crossly. He was not used to being crossed in any desire by a lady, “I want you to talk to me. Bother the Sunday-school! Give them a vacation to-day and let them go fishing. They'll be delighted, I'm sure. You have a wonderful foot. Do you know it? You must be a good dancer. Haven't you a victrola here? We might dance if only my foot weren't out of commission.”
“I don't dance, Mr. Shafton, and it is the Sabbath,” she smiled indulgently with her eyes on her book.
“Why don't you dance? I could teach you easily. And what has the Sabbath got to do with it?”
“But I don't care to dance. It doesn't appeal to me in the least. And the Sabbath has everything to do with it. If I did dance I would not do it to-day.”
“But why?” he asked in genuine wonder.
“Because this is the day set apart for enjoying God and not enjoying ourselves.”
He stared.
“You certainly are the most extraordinary young woman I ever met,” he said admiringly, “Did no one ever tell you that you are very beautiful.”
She gave him the benefit of her beautiful eyes then in a cold amused glance: