Claire’s heart beat violently.  “Friday night?  I’m sorry, mother; I have another engagement.”

“Another engagement?  Why, Claire, how funny!  You never said anything about it.  I don’t know what to say to Mrs. Towne.”

Claire felt calm again.  “Just tell her the truth.”

“But she’ll think so strange that I didn’t know ... that I....”

“You shouldn’t have spoken for me until you found out whether I was willing.”

“Willing! Willing! I didn’t suppose you’d be anything else.  I’ve been trying to get you in with the right people at the church for the last fifteen years.  I’ve tried so hard....”

“Yes, mother, I know,” said Claire, patiently.  “But don’t you see?  That’s just it.  You’ve tried too hard.”

Mrs. Robson began to whimper discreetly.  “How you do talk, Claire!  I declare I don’t know what to make of it.  I suppose you’re bitter about Mrs. Towne the other night.  I felt so at first, but I can see now we were at the wrong table.  And, after all, everything came out beautifully.  We sat with Mr. Stillman, and that had a very good effect, I can tell you.  Especially when everybody saw us leave with him.  Why, it brought Mrs. Towne to her feet.”

“Yes, and that’s the humiliating part of it.”

“Well, Claire, when you’ve lived as long as I have you won’t be so uppish about making compromises,” flung back Mrs. Robson.  “Of course, if you’ve got another engagement, you’ve got another engagement, but if....”

“I wouldn’t have gone, anyway.  I’m through with that sort of thing.”

“Why, Claire, how can you!  It’s your duty, now!—­with your country at war—­and ... and ...  Even that dreadful Serbian the other night made that plain.”

“I’ll go with you to church on Sundays, of course, but—­”

“What am I to do?” wailed Mrs. Robson.  “At least you might think of me!  I’ve not had much pleasure in my life, goodness knows, and now just as I....”

Mrs. Robson broke off abruptly on a flood of tears.  Two weeks ago these tears would have overwhelmed Claire.  As it was, she sat calmly stirring her tea, surprised and a little ashamed of her coldness.  The truth was that Claire Robson was feeling all the fanatical cruelty that comes with sudden conviction.  The forms of her new faith had hardened too quickly and left outlines sharp and uncompromising.

For years Claire had found shelter from the glare of middle-class snobbery beating about her head, by shrinking into her mother’s inadequate shadow as a desert bird shrinks into the thin shadow of a dry reed by some burned-out watercourse.  Now a full noon of disillusionment had annihilated this shadow and given her the courage of necessity.  And there was something more than courage—­there was an eagerness to stand alone in the commonplace words with which she sought to temper her refusal to assist at the coming church reception: