Cornelia hesitated, staring at him with puzzled eyes.
“You seemed to think Saint Paul’s a pretty queer choice when I mentioned it a few minutes back!”
“I did; more shame to me, I suppose; but then you explained your reasons.—I don’t pretend that I should care to go by myself, but if you take me as your companion, it might be good for me, too. ... Would it disturb you to have me there?”
“No-o,” said Cornelia, slowly. “I’d as lief you were there as not! I feel differently since I heard that story. ... You must need heartening up sometimes. Let’s go right along then, and see if we ken’t lay in a store of good thoughts, that will help us along for quite a while. Will you order a cab?...”
Guest walked in silence to the door of the hotel. By his own request he was going to attend a church afternoon service with Cornelia Briskett! The thing seemed too extraordinary to be believed! He took his seat in the hansom in a kind of stunned surprise. Truly, every man was a stranger to himself, and there was no foretelling what an hour might bring forth!
Cornelia turned to survey herself in the slip of mirror, and carefully adjusted the set of her hat.
“Say!” she cried, laughingly, “we’ve forgotten that chaperon! Suppose you think one’s not needed in a cathedral.” She paused, dimpling mischievously. “Well! that’s just as you’re made. I guess if I were set on it, I could flirt in a crypt!”