Carol
was lovely, Mrs. Waldemar was only unusual. Carol was frank as the
sunshine, Mrs. Waldemar was mysterious. What woman on earth but might
wonder if the devoted groom were immune to luring eyes, and if that
lovely bride were jealous?
So she talked to him after church. She called him on the telephone for
directions in the Bible study she was taking up. She lounged in her
hammock as he returned home from pastoral calls, and stopped him for
little chats. David was her pastor, she was one of his flock.
But Carol screwed up her face before the mirror and frowned.
"David," she said to herself, when a glance from her window revealed
David leaning over Mrs. Waldemar's hammock half a block away, doubtless
in the scriptural act of explaining an intricate passage of Revelation
to the dark-eyed sheep,--"David is as good as an angel, and as innocent
as a baby. Two very good traits of course, but dangerous,
tre-men-dous-ly dangerous. Goodness and innocence make men wax in
women's hands." Carol, for all her youth, had acquired considerable
shrewdness in her life-time acquaintance with the intricacies of
parsonage life.
She looked from her window again. "There's the--the--the dark-eyed
Jezebel." She glanced fearfully about, to see if David might be near
enough to hear the word.
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