The rector began to realize what difficulties it might make for a clergyman to have a religious sister as his house-mate.
But he was never a man for unseemly argument.

"It is hanging in my study," he said.
And with that the Rev.Fareforth Furlong passed into the hall took up the simple silk hat, the stick and gloves of the working clergyman and walked out on to the avenue to begin his day's work in the parish.
The rector's parish viewed in its earthly aspect, was a singularly beautiful place.

For it extended all along Plutoria Avenue, where the street is widest and the elm trees are at their leafiest and the motors at their very drowsiest.

It lay up and down the shaded side streets of the residential district, darkened with great chestnuts and hushed in a stillness that was almost religion itself.

There was not a house in the parish assessed at less than twenty-five thousand, and in very heart of it the Mausoleum Club, with its smooth white stone and its Grecian architecture, carried one back to the ancient world and made one think of Athens and of Paul preaching on Mars Hill.