"Does Mr. Butler dance?"
"Well, reports are contradictory. Some say he hops around with the little girls before the older ones get there, and some have it that he only looks on and admires. I don't know which list of sinners he is in, I'm sure. Do you think dancing is wicked?"
"I think that picture is crooked," said Louise promptly; "isn't it? Doesn't it want to be moved a trifle to the right? That is a special favourite of mine. Don't you know the face? Longfellow's 'Evangeline.' Lewis don't like the picture nor the poem; but I can't get away from my girlhood liking for both. Don't you know the poem? I'll read it to you some time and see if you don't agree with me. Now, about that social: let's go next Friday, and see if we can't have a good time—you and Lewis, and Dorothy and I. It is quite time you introduced me to some of your people, I think."
"You don't answer my question."
"What about? Oh, the dancing? Well, the truth is, though a short question, it takes a very long answer, and it is so involved with other questions and answers that I'm afraid if we should dip into it we shouldn't get the curtains hung by tea-time. Let me just take a privilege and ask you a question. Do you expect me to believe in it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because—well—because you religionists are not apt to."
"Don't you know any religionists who seem to?"
"Yes; but they are the counterfeit sort."