“You can’t have anything to eat for fifteen minutes!” Rodney laughed, throwing off seriousness and triumphing in Cis’s surprise that food were within a quarter of an hour’s accessibility. “Did you observe that camera, as you thought it, that black case? It holds a light supper, my ruddy Holly, to preserve your life till a solid one is to be had. Now tell me I’m careless of your comfort, am mean, and not a good provider!” “Never shall I tell you that, Rory O’Moore! I never knew anyone so thoughtful. It’s fun to take a snack out here, but, please, I don’t want to stay late, Rod!” Cis said. “Will you go out on Sunday for the whole day? Start early? I’ll get up at half past six; we’ll be off before eight--and I can’t give a stronger proof of how I rate the privilege of a day with you in the autumn glories!” Rodney smiled, yet meant it. “I couldn’t start before--let’s see! Eight, nine--about quarter to ten, Rod. I’d love to go, though,” Cis answered. “Too late; the train we’d take leaves at 8:20. Why can’t you get off as early as I can? You rise early Sundays, you told me; I don’t.” Rodney looked vexed. “Well, there’s Mass,” said Cis. “I always go at eight; it’s the first one.” “Mass!” Rodney fairly shouted the word. “Good heavens, _Mass_! I never once suspected you of that! Are you a holy Roman?” “Not holy; just a Roman,” Cis corrected him. “Neither did I suspect you of prejudices, of minding what I was. I used to miss Mass once in a while, but I knew better, and when I came away I promised Nan I’d go every Sunday, unless I positively could not go. I don’t bother much with religion, but I keep inside the Church, sort of on the last step, in the vestibule!” “Cut it out, Cicely!” cried Rodney. “Drop the thing. You aren’t the girl to let stuff that no one knows a thing about get hold of you. It’s silly to hang on to a chimera, and it’s dishonest, cowardly to be afraid to chuck it. Make a break right here, Cis, and come with me early next Sunday morning. I used to learn catechism myself; I’ve learned now that no one has any right to try to teach it. Chuck that nonsense, brave, free, honest Cis; believe me, you’d better! And it only means being honest with yourself; if you believed in it, you’d never hang around that last step of yours.” Cicely looked at him gravely, with troubled eyes. Then she said slowly: “I’ve often thought exactly what you say, Rod; I’m afraid I’m not honest. Then again I think I am honest in trying to keep hold. You know there’s something in the Gospel about there being virtue in the hem of the garment; I don’t like to drop the wee edge I’m holding. It’s something like the code, you know, Rodney dear; I can’t learn it easily, but I’d never think of giving it away--don’t you see?”