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 sometime and deck, them out, as a surprise for me? I like to see them looking smart.”

Augusta laughed. “You are a funny man, Doctor St. Peter. If anyone else said the things you do to your classes, I’d be scandalized. But I always tell people you don’t mean half you say.”

“And how do you know what I say to my classes, may I ask?”

“Why, of course, they go out and talk about it when you say slighting things about the Church,” she said gravely.

“But, really, Augusta, I don’t think I ever do.”

“Well, they take it that way. They are not as smart as you, and you ought to be careful.”

“It doesn’t matter. What they think to-day, they’ll forget to-morrow.” He was walking beside Augusta, with a slack, indifferent stride, very unlike the step he had when he was full of something. “That reminds me: I’ve been wanting to ask you a question. That passage in the service about the Mystical Rose, Lily of Zion, Tower of Ivory—is that the Magnificat?”

Augusta stopped and looked at him. “Why, Professor! Did you receive no religious instruction at all?”

“How could I, Augusta? My mother was a Methodist, there was no Catholic church in our town in Kansas, and I guess my father forgot his religion.”