“What chicken?”

“Winter melon soup,” said Lee.

“Have we got money enough to send him to college, Lee?”

“If we’re careful and he doesn’t develop expensive tastes.”

“He wouldn’t,” Adam said.

“I didn’t think I would—but I have.” Lee inspected the sleeve of his coat with admiration.

[2]

The rectory of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church was large and rambling. It had been built for ministers with large families. Mr. Rolf, unmarried and simple in his tastes, closed up most of the house, but when Aron needed a place to study he gave him a large room and helped him with his studies.

Mr. Rolf was fond of Aron. He liked the angelic beauty of his face and his smooth cheeks, his narrow hips, and long straight legs. He liked to sit in the room and watch Aron’s face straining with effort to learn. He understood why Aron could not work at home in an atmosphere not conducive to hard clean thought. Mr. Rolf felt that Aron was his product, his spiritual son, his contribution to the church. He saw him through his travail of celibacy and felt that he was guiding him into calm waters.

Their discussions were long and close and personal. “I know I am criticized,” Mr. Rolf said. “I happen to believe in a higher church than some people. No one can tell me that confession is not just as important a sacrament as communion. And you mind my word—I am going to bring it back, but cautiously, gradually.”

“When I have a church I’ll do it too.”

“It requires great tact,” said Mr. Rolf.

Aron said, “I wish we had in our church, well—well, I might as well say it. I wish we had something like the Augustines or the Franciscans. Someplace to withdraw. Sometimes I feel dirty. I want to get away from the dirt and be clean.”

“I know how you feel,” Mr. Rolf said earnestly. “But there I cannot go along with you. I can’t think that our Lord Jesus would want his priesthood withdrawn from service to the world. Think how he insisted that we preach the Gospel, help the sick and poor, even lower ourselves into filth to raise sinners from the slime. We must keep the exactness of His example always before us.”

His eyes began to glow and his voice took on the throatiness he used in sermons. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this. And I hope you won’t find any pride in me in telling it. But there is a kind of glory in it. For the last five weeks a woman has been coming to evening service. I don’t think you can see her from the choir. She sits always in the last row on the left-hand side—yes, you can see her too. She is off at an angle. Yes, you can see her. She wears a veil and she always leaves before I can get back after recessional.”

“Who is she?” Aron asked.

“Well, you’ll have to learn these things. I made very discreet inquiries and you would never guess. She is the—well—the owner of a house of ill fame.”