The Puritans | Page 9

than that of his own church. He
was not conscious of any intention of becoming a Catholic, but there
was a fascination in playing at being one; and Wynne, who could not
understand how the folk of Boston could play with ethical truths, was
yet able thus to juggle with religion with no misgiving.
This morning he enjoyed the spiritual intoxication of the confessional
as never before. He half consciously allowed himself to dwell upon the
image of the beautiful Miss Morison to the end that he might the more
effectively pour out his contrition for that sin. He was so eloquent in
the confessional that he admired himself both for his penitence and for
the words in which he set it forth. He floated as it were in a sea of
mingled sensuousness and repentance, and he hoped that the penance
imposed would be heavy enough to show that the priest had been
impressed with the magnitude of the sin of which he had been guilty in
allowing his thoughts, consecrated to the holy life of the priesthood, to
dwell upon a woman.

It was one of those absurd anomalies of which life is full that while
Maurice sometimes slighted a little the penances imposed by his own
Superior, he had never in the least abated the rigor of any laid upon him
by the Catholic priest. It was perhaps that he felt his honor concerned in
the latter case. This morning the penance was satisfactorily heavy, and
he came out of the church with a buoyant step, full of a certain boyish
elation. He had a fresh and delightful sense of the reality of religion
now that he had actually sinned and been forgiven.
Next to being forgiven for a sin there is perhaps nothing more
satisfactory than to repeat the transgression, and if Maurice had not
formulated this fact in theory he was to be acquainted with it in practice.
As he walked along in the now bright forenoon, filled with the
enjoyment of moral cleanness, he suddenly started with the thrill of
delicious temptation. Just before him a lady had come around a corner,
and was walking quietly along, in whom at a glance he recognized
Miss Morison. There came into his cheek, which even his double
penances had not made thin, a flush of pleasure. He quickened his steps,
and in a moment had overtaken her.
"Good morning," he said, raising his ecclesiastical hat with an air
which savored somewhat of worldliness. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"
She started at his salutation, but instantly recognized him.
"Good morning," she responded. "I didn't expect to find anybody I
knew in this part of the town."
"It isn't one where young ladies as a rule walk for pleasure, I suppose,"
Maurice said, falling into step, and walking beside her.
"I am very sure that I don't," Miss Morison replied with a toss of her
head. "I do it because I was bullied into being a visitor for the
Associated Charities, and I go once a week to tell some poor folk down
here that I am no better than they are. They know that I don't believe it,
and I have my doubts if they even believe it themselves, only they
wouldn't be foolish enough to prevaricate about it. Oh, it's a great and
noble work that I'm engaged in!"

There was something exhilarating about her as she tossed her pretty
head. Wynne laughed without knowing just why, except that she
intoxicated him with delight.
"You don't speak of your work with much enthusiasm," said he.
"Enthusiasm!" she retorted. "Why should I? It's abominable. I hate it,
the people I visit hate it, and there's nobody pleased but the managers,
who can set down so many more visits paid to the worthy poor, and
make a better showing in their annual report. For my part I am tired of
the worthy poor; and if I must keep on slumming, I'd like to try the
unworthy poor a while. I'm sure they'd be more interesting."
She spoke with a pretty air of recklessness, as if she were conscious
that this was not the strain in which to address one of his cloth. There
was not a little vexation under her lightness of manner, however, and
Wynne was not so dull as not to perceive that something had gone
amiss.
"But philanthropy," he began, "is surely"--
"Your cousin," she interrupted, "declares that only the eye of
Omniscience can possibly distinguish between what passes for
philanthropy and what is sheer egotism."
He laughed in spite of himself, feeling that he ought to be shocked.
"But what," he asked, "has impressed this view of things upon you this
morning in particular?"
His companion made a droll little gesture with both her hands.
"Of