The Presbyterian church, too, although still clinging to solid doctrine, was far removed from the tuning-fork stage.  Through throes of terrible convulsion it had come to possess an organ, a paid soloist, and a Ladies’ Aid, that insidious first thing in women’s clubs.

The first meeting of the Knox Church Ladies’ Aid, after the return of Mrs. Coombe and Jane, was held for the purpose of putting together a quilt, not the old-fashioned kind, of course, but something quite new—­an autograph quilt, very chaste.

It was a large meeting and, providentially, Mrs. Coombe was late.  I say providentially because, had she been early, it is difficult to imagine how her fellow members would have eased their minds of the load of comment justified by her indiscreet home-coming, and several other things equally painful but interesting.  The Ladies’ Aid had its printed constitution but it also had its unwritten laws and one of these laws was that strictest courtesy must always be observed.  No member, whatever her failings, was ever discussed in meeting—­when she was present.

“What I cannot excuse,” said Mrs. Bartley Simson, “is the tone of levity in which she answered Mr. MacTavish when he met her on the way from the station.  It is possible that she had some good reason for coming on that particular train.  I am not one of those who hold that nothing can ever justify Sunday travel.  Exceptional cases must be allowed for.  But the frivolity of her excuse nothing can justify.”

“Besides,” said Miss Atkins, the secretary, “it was a—­it sounded like—­what I mean to say is that she could not possibly, no one could possibly, have forgotten what day of the week it was.”

A subdued chorus of “Certainly not” and “Absurd” showed the trend of public opinion upon this point.

“I once forgot that Wednesday was Thursday,” said the youngest Miss Sinclair, who always stood for peace at any price.

“Don’t be silly, Jessie!” The elder Miss Sinclair, who believed in war with honour, jogged her sister’s elbow none too gently.  “That’s a different thing altogether.  For my own part,” raising her voice, “I think that as a society we cannot be too careful how we minimise the fact itself.  To us, as a society, it is the fact itself that matters, and not what Mrs. Coombe said about it.  That, to a certain extent, may be her own affair.  But I hold, and I say it without fear of successful contradiction, that no member of a community can disregard the Sabbath in a public way without affecting the community at large.  That is why I feel justified in criticising Mrs. Coombe’s behaviour.  And I hope,” here she raised a piercing eye and let it range triumphantly over the circle, “I sincerely hope that the minister has been told of this occurrence!”

The meeting rustled with approbation.  This, it felt, was something like a proper spirit.  There was no compromise here.  A thrill of conscious virtue, raised to the nth power, shot through the circle.