The Breaking Point

And Mrs. Crosby, without taking her eyes from the sermon, would nod.

Of late years, Doctor David Livingstone had been taking less and less

of the "Don't-look-for-me-until-you-see-me" cases, and Doctor Dick had

acquired a car, which would not freeze when left outside all night like

a forgotten dog, and a sense of philosophy about sleep. That is, that

eleven o'clock P.M. was bed-time to some people, but was just eleven

o'clock for him.

When he went to church he listened to the sermon, but rather often

he looked at Elizabeth Wheeler. When his eyes wandered, as the most

faithful eyes will now and then, they were apt to rest on the flag that

had hung, ever since the war, beside the altar. He had fought for his

country in a sea of mud, never nearer than two hundred miles to the

battle line, fought with a surgical kit instead of a gun, but he was

content. Not to all the high adventure.

Had he been asked, suddenly, the name of the tall blonde girl who sang

among the sopranos, he could not have told it.

The Sunday morning following Clare Rossiter's sentimental confession,

Elizabeth tried very hard to banish all worldly thoughts, as usual,

and to see the kneeling, rising and sitting congregation as there for

worship. But for the first time she wondered. Some of the faces were

blank, as though behind the steady gaze the mind had wandered far

afield, or slept. Some were intent, some even devout. But for the first

time she began to feel that people in the mass might be cruel, too.

How many of them, for instance, would sometime during the day pass on,

behind their hands, the gossip Clare had mentioned?

She changed her position, and glanced quickly over the church. The

Livingstone pew was fully occupied, and well up toward the front, Wallie

Sayre was steadfastly regarding her. She looked away quickly.

Came the end of the service. Came down the aisle the Courtney boy, clean

and shining and carrying high his glowing symbol. Came the choir, two by

two, the women first, sopranos, altos and Elizabeth. Came the men,

bass and tenor, neatly shaved for Sunday morning. Came the rector, Mr.

Oglethorpe, a trifle wistful, because always he fell so far below the

mark he had set. Came the benediction. Came the slow rising from its

knees of the congregation and its cheerful bustle of dispersal.

Doctor Dick Livingstone stood up and helped Doctor David into his

new spring overcoat. He was very content. It was May, and the sun was

shining. It was Sunday, and he would have an hour or two of leisure. And

he had made a resolution about a matter that had been in his mind for

some time. He was very content.