David Salmon was promenading outside with Lottie and Dinah. Although a terrible tease, he was a great favourite with the girls. As soon as they caught sight of Celia, they very kindly marched off to hunt up Montie and Victor, and David escorted Celia home as a matter of course.
She was silent on the homeward journey, and her fair face looked quite troubled. When, at length, he asked if she had enjoyed going to the synagogue, she told him something of what was in her mind.
“I cannot think what was the matter with me,” she confessed quite sorrowfully. “Instead of entering into the service with all my heart, as I had meant to do, I pulled it to pieces and criticized it as if I were a rank outsider. And yet I am sure that there must be beauty in Jewish worship, only I seem to have overlooked it somehow.”
“Well, there is no harm in being critical,” he rejoined cheerfully. “To tell you the truth, I think that synagogue-going and all that sort of thing is a lot of silly humbug, only we keep it up for the sake of being social: that’s my candid opinion.”
Celia was shocked. “Do you really think so?” she asked with surprise. “Then why do you ever go to synagogue?”
David saw that he had made a mistake. “Well, I don’t mean exactly that,” he corrected himself hastily. “I can’t explain myself very well. But what was it that you did not like about the service? Was it the choir? I must take you to the Reform Synagogue, where they have an organ. It is more churchified there, and perhaps you would like it better.”
“No, it wasn’t the choir,” answered Celia, hesitatingly. “They did sing flat, it is true; but if one really wants to worship God, little details like that should not be of the slightest account. If the true note is in the heart, what matters it if the vocal sound be out of tune? I don’t know what it was, but instead of feeling ‘good,’ the service made me feel quite the reverse. I am afraid you think me very wicked, don’t you, Mr. Salmon?”
They had arrived at the gate, and the Friedberg girls were waiting for them in the garden. David gave Celia back her prayer-book, and looked up into the sweetly earnest face with a somewhat cynical smile.
“I would rather have you just a little bit wicked, Miss Franks,” he rejoined. “Very good people are apt to become bores. A little spice of the devil, like cayenne pepper, adds flavour to what might otherwise be quite wholesome—but insipid.”
Then, opening the gate for her, he pressed her hand, and, raising his hat, walked abruptly away.