"Nor the first one either, I fear," she rejoined; "however, I am trying to keep as young as I can. I do wish we were at Liverpool. There is to be a bridge party at one of my friends this afternoon and a military ball to-night, and I had counted on getting in for both. I accepted from New York! I am not thinking so much about the ball, but I shall die if I miss the bridge."
"Indeed," replied her companion, glancing at the cross.
"Yes, it will be too cruel. I have picked up some awfully good points on bridge—got them in New York. I got them from my friend's clergyman, the Rev. Dyson Bartlett, rector of the Holy Archangels. He is a lovely man. You'd never think to hear him preach that there was so much in him. Do you know of him?"
"No," answered Mr. Blake, "I don't think I ever heard of him before."
"Probably not; he lives a very quiet life—very restful sort of nature, he has; he never gets up till eleven; but of course he is always up very late at night. Can't burn the candle at both ends, can you? Clergymen are only human, and must get their rest. But on Sunday mornings he gets up at half-past six for early mass, and of course he plays on Saturday nights too, so sometimes he must get very little sleep. Clergymen don't have such an easy life after all. Are you an Episcopalian, Mr. Blake?"
"No, I don't belong to that church."
"Isn't that too bad? But I don't know why I should say that. I think lots of people go to heaven who belong to other churches. But then, of course, I am very broad in my views. I can't bear narrow people—I just can't stand narrow people; and besides, I met a lovely man once in Tarrytown, and he was a Presbyterian. I hope I will meet him in heaven."
"I hope you will," said Mr. Blake.
"Yes," she resumed, "that is what I liked about Mr. Bartlett—he was so broad in his views. I remember I asked him once if he thought dissenters would go to heaven, and I shall never forget how beautifully he spoke. We were having a little game at the time—only a dollar stake—and it was his turn to play. But when I asked him that about the dissenters, he laid down his cards on the table, and his hands unconsciously took hold of the cross he always carried on his coat, and he said: 'God is very merciful, Mrs. Drake'—then he dropped the cross, and took up the cards again, and gave a little sigh before he played, and there was a beautiful smile on his face—a kind of sad, sweet smile."
"Did you attend his church when in New York?" said her listener, not knowing what else to say.
