“Do try to make up a respectable number,” said Lady Mills. “You can do just what you like, you know, as soon as it is over; and people in the country think so much of it. We scandalize the neighborhood quite enough, as it is, by not going to bed at ten o’clock, and other wicked practices. And last week we were only three at church out of a party of seventeen.” “Are you going, Miss Christie? Yes, of course you are. I’ll go, if you will find all the places for me,” said Mr. Carruthers. And when we got to church--we mustered eight altogether--he sat by me, and picked out from among the books the biggest church-service he could find, which he put in front of me when the collect was given out, whispering-- “Find it for me, please.” At first I would not take any notice, for it was just like playing in church; but he began making such a disturbance, rustling the leaves of his book, looking over those of his neighbors, and dropping with a crash all those within reach on the ledge before him, that I was obliged to find it for him, and all the other places too during the service, just as if he had been a little boy. But I was very angry all the time, and when we came out I would not speak to him. He came however and walked by my side while I talked to somebody else, and at last he said meekly-- “Have I offended you?” “Yes,” I said; “I think you are very irreverent.” “I didn’t mean to be irreverent,” he said, in a still meeker tone. “But it is so dull to sit in church and not be able to follow the service, and it looks so bad to be fumbling in one’s book all the time and find the place only when the parson is a long way ahead. And you can always find it in a minute.” “You should go to church oftener, and then you could find the places as well as I,” rejoined I severely. “Yes, but I always have such a lot to do on Sunday mornings in town,” said he mournfully--“pipes to smoke, and--and other things. But I’ll try to go oftener; I dare say it will do me good.” “I don’t believe going to church does people like you any good at all,” remarked I gravely. And Mr. Carruthers burst out laughing, and said it was very wrong of me to discourage him just when he wanted to try to be good. At luncheon I sat between him and clever Mrs. Clowes, who described the sermon in a way that made everybody laugh, and said a lot of amusing and sometimes unkind things, as she always did. Presently, in a rather low voice, she addressed Mr. Carruthers across me. “Shall I pass you the sherry; or is it true that you have taken to milk and water?” she asked meaningly. “Quite true,” said he. “And you can’t think how nice it is--not half so insipid as you would expect, and a pleasant change after too many stimulants. Let me give you some grapes, Miss Christie.” And Mrs. Clowes turned away her head, as if there had been something that hurt her in his answer.