But swiftly Kathryn retrieved her blunder. "Of course," she added; "I always have been accustomed to a large house. It is only that this one seems to me inconvenient. The back stairs are so very central, and the telephones are so badly placed, one in the study, and the other away out in the back of the hall. Really, you would think, to see them, that the rector and the servants were the only ones to be considered, and not the housekeeper at all." Stolidly regardless of the criticism, Olive returned to her former theme. She did this of a distinct purpose, too. It seemed to her to be quite incredible that the woman before her could be blind to her husband's haggard face. None the less, watching Kathryn, she could not in sincerity accuse her of any shamming. "It really has worried us, my father and me, that Mr. Brenton hasn't looked quite as strong lately, as when he came here," she insisted. "Oh, I think he is quite well. Men," Kathryn gave a vindictive sort of flap to the front breadths of her dressing gown; "never know what it is to be really ill. I tell Scott, if he were in my place--" In mercy to probabilities, Olive interrupted. "Saint Peter's has grown so fast, since he came here," she said. Kathryn promptly took umbrage at the singular number of the pronoun. "I'm sure we've done our best," she answered tartly. "It has been hard work, though, in such a dead old town as this." "But, with all the college girls--" Olive was beginning. Kathryn cut her short. "They count for nothing in the parish. They just come to church, when they get up in season; that's about all. Of course, it would be a good thing if they did count for more. The poor old church is in need of something young and lively; now and then it seems to me to be fairly doddering. Poor Scott feels it, too. He can't help it. Every man and woman in the congregation was born, ready made, with a whole set of prejudices, born in a rut that nothing can break down. I tell him--" Once more Olive interrupted. Indeed, it was her only method of driving in an entering wedge of speech. "That is what we old New Englanders love, Mrs. Brenton," she said, with a sweetness that was almost acid. "Remember that we and our ancestors have lived in these same houses since King George the Third's day, and then you will forgive us for some of our ready-made prejudices." Kathryn glanced up suspiciously. Then she sought to flay her guest with all discretion. "Really? How very tiresome you must have found it!" she made answer. "Not at all. It's the other thing that we find so tiresome," Olive assured her, not without some malice. "Where did you see Mr. Brenton?" Kathryn asked her quite abruptly. "He was going to call on Mr. Opdyke." "Reed, or the professor?" This time, Olive's accent was not to be mistaken. "Mr. Reed Opdyke," she said. Kathryn ignored the rebuke completely. "How is Reed?" she queried. Then Olive gave it up, and left her to her chosen methods. "About the same."