The Breaking Point | Page 5

a Heaven of Hell, a
Hell of Heaven."
He did a certain amount of serious reading every year.
On Sunday mornings, during the service, Elizabeth earnestly tried to
banish all worldly thoughts. In spite of this resolve, however, she was
always conscious of a certain regret that the choir seats necessitated
turning her profile to the congregation. At the age of twelve she had
decided that her nose was too short, and nothing had happened since to
change her conviction. She seldom so much as glanced at the
congregation. During her slow progress up and down the main aisle
behind the Courtney boy, who was still a soprano and who carried the
great gold cross, she always looked straight ahead. Or rather, although
she was unconscious of this, slightly up. She always looked up when
she sang, for she had commenced to take singing lessons when the
piano music rack was high above her head.
So she still lifted her eyes as she went up the aisle, and was extremely
serious over the whole thing. Because it is a solemn matter to take a
number of people who have been up to that moment engrossed in
thoughts of food or golf or servants or business, and in the twinkling of
an eye, as the prayer book said about death, turn their minds to
worship.
Nevertheless, although she never looked at the pews, she was always
conscious of two of them. The one near the pulpit was the Sayres' and it
was the social calendar of the town. When Mrs. Sayre was in it, it was
the social season. One never knew when Mrs. Sayre's butler would call

up and say:
"I am speaking for Mrs. Sayre. Mrs. Sayre would like to have the
pleasure of Miss Wheeler's company on Thursday to luncheon, at
one-thirty."
When the Sayre pew was empty, the town knew, if it happened to be
winter, that the Florida or Santa Barbara season was on; or in summer
the Maine coast.
The other pew was at the back of the church. Always it had one
occupant; sometimes it had three. But the behavior of this pew was
very erratic. Sometimes an elderly and portly gentleman with white
hair and fierce eyebrows would come in when the sermon was almost
over. Again, a hand would reach through the grill behind it, and a tall
young man who had had his eyes fixed in the proper direction, but not
always on the rector, would reach for his hat, get up and slip out. On
these occasions, however, he would first identify the owner of the hand
and then bend over the one permanent occupant of the pew, a little old
lady. His speech was as Yea, yea, or Nay, nay, for he either said, "I'll
be back for dinner," or "Don't look for me until you see me."
And Mrs. Crosby, without taking her eyes from the sermon, would nod.
Of late years, Doctor David Livingstone had been taking less and less
of the "Don't-look-for-me-until-you-see-me" cases, and Doctor Dick
had acquired a car, which would not freeze when left outside all night
like a forgotten dog, and a sense of philosophy about sleep. That is, that
eleven o'clock P.M. was bed-time to some people, but was just eleven
o'clock for him.
When he went to church he listened to the sermon, but rather often he
looked at Elizabeth Wheeler. When his eyes wandered, as the most
faithful eyes will now and then, they were apt to rest on the flag that
had hung, ever since the war, beside the altar. He had fought for his
country in a sea of mud, never nearer than two hundred miles to the
battle line, fought with a surgical kit instead of a gun, but he was
content. Not to all the high adventure.

Had he been asked, suddenly, the name of the tall blonde girl who sang
among the sopranos, he could not have told it.
The Sunday morning following Clare Rossiter's sentimental confession,
Elizabeth tried very hard to banish all worldly thoughts, as usual, and to
see the kneeling, rising and sitting congregation as there for worship.
But for the first time she wondered. Some of the faces were blank, as
though behind the steady gaze the mind had wandered far afield, or
slept. Some were intent, some even devout. But for the first time she
began to feel that people in the mass might be cruel, too. How many of
them, for instance, would sometime during the day pass on, behind
their hands, the gossip Clare had mentioned?
She changed her position, and glanced quickly over the church. The
Livingstone pew was fully occupied, and well up toward the front,
Wallie Sayre was steadfastly regarding her. She looked away quickly.
Came the