"But Delight will have to be taught, if she is to run the car."

"The salesman says they will send some one."

"They give one lesson, I believe. That's not enough. I think Graham
could show her some things. He drives well."

Flying uptown a little later in Clayton's handsome car, the rector
dreamed certain dreams. First his mind went to his parish visiting list,
so endless, so never cleaned up, and now about to be made a pleasure
instead of a penance. And into his mind, so strangely compounded of
worldliness and spirituality, came a further dream--of Delight and
Graham Spencer--of ease at last for the girl after the struggle to keep
up appearances of a clergyman's family in a wealthy parish.

Money had gradually assumed an undue importance in his mind. Every
Sunday, every service, he dealt in money. He reminded his people of the
church debt. He begged for various charities. He tried hard to believe
that the money that came in was given to the Lord, but he knew perfectly
well that it went to the janitor and the plumber and the organist. He
watched the offertory after the sermon, and only too often as he stood
waiting, before raising it before the altar, he wondered if the people
felt that they had received their money's worth.

He had started life with a dream of service, but although his own sturdy
faith persisted, he had learned the cost of religion in dollars and
cents. So, going up town, he wondered if Clayton would increase his
church subscription, now that things were well with him.