"What, mother?" Madeline bent earnestly over her work.
"He's written a book of poems and it's going to be published early next year. Mrs. Kestern told me this afternoon."
"Mother! You don't say so. How splendid!" The girl flushed with genuine pleasure and excitement.
"Yes, dear. He is clever, is Paul. I expect he'll do great things one day."
The eyes of mother and daughter met. "I always thought so," said Madeline.
Mrs. Ernest sat down in an arm-chair, and reached for her work-basket. She opened it with a little sigh. There were always socks or stockings in it, and no more than her daughter did she like mending them. She threaded her needle, and fitted the wooden heel into a sock. "Father had a talk with Mr. Kestern this morning," she said, vaguely.
Madeline straightened out her work. "Yes?" she queried, critically, as if to the blouse.
"Yes. Mr. Kestern is troubled about Paul."
"Really? Why?"
"He's getting High Church."