"No," said Howard, "not to Windlow; I stayed with them once when I
was a boy, when Uncle John was alive--but that was at Bristol. What
sort of a place is Windlow? I suppose Aunt Anne is pretty well
off?"

"I'm not very good at seeing the points of a place," said Monica;
"but it's a beautiful old house, though it is rather too low down
for my taste; and she lives very comfortably, so I think she must
be rich; I don't know about that; but she is an interesting woman--
one of the few really religious people I know. I am not very
religious myself, but she makes it seem rather interesting to me--
she has experiences--I don't quite know what they are; but she is a
sort of artist in religion, I think. That's a bad description,
because it sounds self-conscious; and she isn't that--she has a
sense of humour, and she doesn't rub things in. You know how if one
meets a real artist in anything--a writer, a painter, a musician--
and finds them at work, it seems almost the only thing worth doing.
Well, Aunt Anne gives me the same sort of sense about religion when
I am with her; and yet when I come away, and see how badly other
people handle it, it seems a very dull business."

"That's interesting," said Howard musingly; "but I am really
ashamed to suggest going there. She has asked me so often, and I
have sent such idiotic excuses."

"Oh, you needn't mind that," said Monica; "she isn't a huffy
person. I know she would like to see you--she said to me once that
the idea of coming didn't seem to amuse you, but she seemed
disposed to sympathise with you for that. Just write and say you
would like to go."