darling, it's been so long!" Her arms clung about his neck, invincible, unrestrained.
When the boys came in from school and rang the clicker bell down-stairs, the romantics were unduly cordial to them. When the boys had gone out to play, she cried, wildly, "Oh, I know it's wrong, but I've always loved you so!"
He inquired interestedly, "Do you feel wickeder because I'm a minister?"
"No! I'm proud of it! Like as if you were different from other men—like you were somehow closer to God. I'm proud you're a preacher! Any woman would be! It's—you know. Different!"
He kissed her. "Oh, you darling!" he said.
They had to be careful. Elmer had singularly little relish for having the horny-handed Floyd Naylor come in some afternoon and find him with Lulu.
Like many famous lovers in many ages, they found refuge in the church. Lulu was an admirable cook, and while in her new life in Zenith she had never reached out for such urban opportunities as lectures or concerts or literary clubs, she had by some obscure ambitiousness, some notion of a shop of her own, been stirred to attend a cooking-school and learn salads and pastry and canapés. Elmer was able to give her a weekly Tuesday evening cooking-class to teach at Wellspring, and even to get out of the trustees for her a salary of five dollars a week.
The cooking-class was over at ten. By that time the rest of the church was cleared, and Elmer had decided that Tuesday evening would be a desirable time for reading in his church office.
Cleo had many small activities in the church—clubs, Epworth League, fancy-work—but none on Tuesday evening.
Before Lulu came stumbling through the quiet church basement, the dark and musty corridor, before she tapped timidly at his door, he would be walking up and down, and when he held out his arms she flew into them unreasoning.
He had a new contentment.
"I'm really not a bad fellow. I don't go chasing after
