"No, it was not John Burleson…. And I endured—enough."
"Don't you care to tell me who it was?"
Rita did not reply at that time. Later, however, when the simple supper was ended, she lighted a cigarette and found a place where, with lamplight behind her, she could read a book which Burleson had sent her, and which she had been attempting to assimilate and digest all winter. It was a large, thick, dark book, and weighed nearly four pounds. It was called "Essays on the Obvious "; and Valerie had made fun of it until, to her surprise, she noticed that her pleasantries annoyed Rita.
Valerie, curled up in the wing-chair, cheek resting against its velvet side, was reading the Psalms again—fascinated as always by the noble music of the verse. And it was only by chance that, lifting her eyes absently for a moment, she found that Rita had laid aside her book and was looking at her intently.
"Hello, dear!" she said, indolently humorous.
Rita said: "You read your Bible a good deal, don't you?"
"Parts of it."
"The parts you believe?"
"Yes; and the parts that I can't believe."
"What parts can't you believe?"