and mysterious in your reserves."

Theron gave a tug at the ribbon, to show the joy he had in her delicate
chaff. "No, it is you who are secretive," he said. "You never told me
about--about the piano."

The word was out! A minute before it had seemed incredible to him that
he should ever have the courage to utter it--but here it was. He laid
firm hold upon the ribbon, which it appeared hung from her waist, and
drew himself a trifle nearer to her. "I could never have consented to
take it, I'm afraid," he went on in a low voice, "if I had known. And
even as it is, I fear it won't be possible."

"What are you afraid of?" asked Celia. "Why shouldn't you take it?
People in your profession never do get anything unless it's given to
them, do they? I've always understood it was like that. I've often
read of donation parties--that's what they're called, isn't it?--where
everybody is supposed to bring some gift to the minister. Very well,
then, I've simply had a donation party of my own, that's all. Unless
you mean that my being a Catholic makes a difference. I had supposed you
were quite free from that kind of prejudice."

"So I am! Believe me, I am!" urged Theron. "When I'm with you, it seems
impossible to realize that there are people so narrow and contracted
in their natures as to take account of such things. It is another
atmosphere that I breathe near you. How could you imagine that such a
thought--about our difference of creed--would enter my head? In
fact," he concluded with a nervous half-laugh, "there isn't any such
difference. Whatever your religion is, it's mine too. You remember--you
adopted me as a Greek."