"Mother is probably the most devout woman in New York," went on
Gerald's even voice. "She is one of the hardest workers in the
church. She keeps all the fast days, and attends all the services.
Although she has no strength to speak of, she has just completed an
elaborate embroidered altar cloth. The work she accomplished while
on her knees. Often she spent five or six hours a day in that
position. It was very devout, but against the doctor's orders, and
she is at present much pulled down. Finally she gave way to
persuasion to the extent of sending the embroidery out to be bound
and corded. As a result, the altar cloth will not be done for next
Sunday."

He delivered this statement in a voice absolutely colourless,
without the faintest trace discernible of either approval or
disapproval, without the slightest irony, yet Orde felt vaguely
uncomfortable.

"It must have been annoying to her," he said gravely, "and I hope
she will get it done in time. Perhaps Miss Bishop will be able to
do it."

"That," said Gerald, "is Madison Square--or perhaps you know New
York? My sister would, of course, be only too glad to finish the
work, but I fear that my mother's peculiarly ardent temperament will
now insist on her own accomplishment of the task. But perhaps you
do not understand temperaments?"

"Very little, I'm afraid," confessed Orde.