Sarah took an illustrated journal out of her pocket and began to read aloud. III Esther was one of the Plymouth Brethren. In their chapel, if the house in which they met could be called a chapel, there were neither pictured stories of saints, nor vestments, nor music, nor even imaginative stimulant in the shape of written prayers. Her knowledge of life was strictly limited to her experience of life; she knew no drama of passion except that which the Gospels relate: this story in the _Family Reader_ was the first representation of life she had met with, and its humanity thrilled her like the first idol set up for worship. The actress told Norris that she loved him. They were on a balcony, the sky was blue, the moon was shining, the warm scent of the mignonette came up from the garden below, the man was in evening dress with diamond shirt studs, the actress's arm was large and white. They had loved each other for years. The strangest events had happened for the purpose of bringing them together, and, fascinated against her will, Esther could not but listen. But at the end of the chapter the racial instinct forced reproval from her. "I am sure it is wicked to read such tales." Sarah looked at her in mute astonishment. Grover said-- "You shouldn't be here at all. Can't Mrs. Latch find nothing for you to do in the scullery?" "Then," said Sarah, awaking to a sense of the situation, "I suppose that where you come from you were not so much as allowed to read a tale; ... dirty little chapel-going folk!" The incident might have closed with this reproval had not Margaret volunteered the information that Esther's box was full of books. "I should like to see them books," said Sarah. "I'll be bound that they are only prayer-books." "I don't mind what you say to me, but you shall not insult my religion." "Insult your religion! I said you never had read a book in your life unless it was a prayer-book." "We don't use prayer-books." "Then what books have you read?" Esther hesitated, her manner betrayed her, and, suspecting the truth, Sarah said: "I don't believe that you can read at all. Come, I'll bet you twopence that you can't read the first five lines of my story."