of her social friendships maintained. How could she hope to hold her position among these people and at the same time remain loyal to her husband? It was a cruel dilemma in which she had, by no fault of her own, been suddenly and rudely placed.
At dinner time that evening her husband noticed her apparent distraction and despondency, and inquired of her concerning the cause of it. She successfully evaded his questions, and it was not until after the children had been put to bed that she repeated to him the tale that Miss Chichester had told to her that afternoon. He assured her that she had heard a grossly exaggerated account of what had actually taken place, but in its really material aspects he could not do otherwise than confirm the story. He did not consider, he said, that the opposition to his plans would necessarily lead to their suppression.
"I may never be able," he added, "to induce my vestry to act with me in these matters; nevertheless I shall not relax my effort to make Christ Church a haven for 'all sorts and conditions of men.'"
"I suppose you are right about it, Robert," she replied. "Of course you are. I must take your judgment in these matters because I don't know anything about them myself, and I've never been able to understand them. But it seems so sad to me, and so—so humiliating that it was necessary to antagonize all these people who have been such dear friends to us ever since we've been here."
"You take a narrow view of the situation, Alice. The question is not whether we are going to keep or lose friends; but it is whether I am right or wrong. If I am right, as I truly believe I am, then nothing, no opposition, no antagonism, no suffering of any kind should swerve me from my course. If these people are antagonistic, the antagonism is theirs. I have only the kindliest feeling toward all of them."
"But, Robert, it seems to me that it is so necessary
