The singing was already going on as they entered. Just plain old gospel
songs, sung just as badly, though with even more fervor, than in the
morning. Courtland accepted the tattered hymn-book and put Gila into the
seat the shabby usher indicated. He was wholly in the spirit of the
gathering, and anxious only to feel the spell once more that had been
about him in the morning. But Gila was so amused with her surroundings
that she could scarcely pay attention to where she was to sit, and
almost tripped over the end of the pew. She openly stared and laughed at
the people around her, as though that was what Courtland had brought her
there for, and kept nudging him and calling his attention to some
grotesque figure.
Courtland was singing, joining his fine tenor in with the curious
assembly and enjoying it. Gila recalled him each time from a realm of
the spirit, and he would earnestly give attention to what she said,
bending his ear to listen, then look seriously at the person indicated,
try to appreciate her amusement with a nod and absent smile, and go on
singing again! He was so absorbed in the gathering that her talk
scarcely penetrated to his real soul.
If he had been trying to baffle Gila he could have used no more
effective method, for the point of her jokes seemed blunted. She turned
her eyes at last to her escort and began to study him, astonishment and
chagrin in her countenance. Gradually both gave way to a kind of
admiration and curiosity.
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