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 mustn't cry. . . . It's something to be joyful over."

She looked (he thought) so young and pitiful and unhappy. If it were only possible to comfort her, to take her on his knee as if she were a little child. It was no more than that, this feeling toward her. He wanted to comfort her. But you couldn't do that, of course, especially if you were a preacher.

"I watched your face while you were singing," he said. "It was a beautiful sight . . . so filled with joy and hope and exaltation . . . like the face of one who has seen a vision. It was an inspiration—even to me, a man of God."

She thought, "Oh, I am wicked. I am wicked!" And aloud, suddenly, without knowing why, she said, "Oh, I'm so unhappy!"

"But why, Naomi?"

He had called her by her name, without thinking, and suddenly he was frightened. He always thought of her thus, as if she had been his own child, and now the thought had slipped into words. He saw that she had noticed it, for she was blushing and avoided his eyes. She did not answer his question, and suddenly he said, "You mustn't mind that . . . that . . . Mrs. Downes. . . . It only means . . . that . . . well, I always think of you as Naomi because I think of your mother-in-law as the Mrs. Downes."

Still looking away, she answered, "I know . . . I know. . . . It's all right. You may call me that if you want, only . . . only not in front of the others. I didn't. . . . I think it would make me feel less alone."

And then the door creaked, and Mrs. Wilbert Phipps came in. The Reverend Castor began fingering the piles