As the sermon went on and his harsh but
flexible voice mounted, now and then, to an impassioned height, she
would feel herself mounting with it; then when it fell again to
calmness, she would feel herself falling, too. She understood why
grandma called him "inspired." And once when his smile, on one of
its sudden flashes from out that dark gauntness of his face, seemed
aimed directly at her she felt a quick, responsive, electric thrill.
The Methodist girls were right--he was fascinating.
She didn't wait until after the service to express her approbation
to Tess--anyway, to a fifteen-year-old surreptitiousness seems to
add zest to any communication. She tore a corner from the hymnal
fly-leaf and scribbled her verdict while the elder O'Neills and most
of the old people were kneeling in prayer. Assuring herself that all
nearby heads to be dreaded were reverentially bent, she passed the
missive. As she did so she chanced to glance up toward the minister.
Oh, dear heaven! He was looking straight down at her. He had seen
her--the O'Neill pew was only three rows back.
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