"But surely you, Eleanor-you're not going in! You'll never be able to
stand it, even if you find a seat. The few people we know who've come
are leaving. I just saw the Allan Pendletons."

"Have you seen Phil?" Eleanor asked.

"Oh, yes, he's in there, and even he's helpless. And as I came out poor
Mr. Bradley was jammed up against the wall. He seemed perfectly stunned
. . . ."

At this moment they were thrust apart. Eleanor quivered as she was
carried through the swinging doors into the church.

"I think you're right," she whispered to Alison, "it is splendid.
There's something about it that takes hold of me, that carries one away.
It makes me wonder how it can be guided--what will come of it?"

They caught sight of Phil pushing his way towards them, and his face bore
the set look of belligerency which Eleanor knew so well, but he returned
her smile. Alison's heart warmed towards him.

"What do you think of this?" he demanded. "Most of our respectable
friends who dared to come have left in a towering rage--to institute
lawsuits, probably. At tiny rate, strangers are not being made to wait
until ten minutes after the service begins. That's one barbarous custom
abolished."

"Strangers seem to have taken matters in their own hands for once"
Eleanor smiled. "We've made up our minds to stay, Phil, even if we have
to stand."