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from the spectacle of the George Washington Bridge, flung across the
     gorge of the Hudson like a great cobweb spangled with luminous dew.
    “Mr. English.” He turned eyes of genial inquiry upon her. “Why did you ask me to bring you up to meet my mother?”
    English smiled at her, a pleasant smile conveying no information at all. “I don’t know,” he said. Then, as he saw her look
     vexed: “I liked her very much, and I like you. I’m delighted that we’re having dinner together.” And he looked at her in such
     an entirely friendly manner that Honey’s mistrust subsided. She nestled back in the cushions and gave herself up to the beauty
     of the drive. The vision of Andy flashed upon her mind, but she was not tuned to a mood of self-reproach. She argued impatiently
     to herself that it was inconceivable for her to do anything untrue to Andy; and since she was doing this, it followed that
     there was nothing wrong with it. The vision of Andy did not look particularly satisfied with the line of reasoning, but nevertheless
     faded quickly.
    Philosophers, ancient and modern, unite in disparagement of the character of woman. This has not materially lessened the popularity
     of the sex through the ages. Women, on the other hand, have had very little to say against philosophers–or for them, to be
     sure. In fact, except in rare instances beyond the aid of the cosmetic art, women under forty generally pay no attention whatever
     to philosophers. This may shed some small light on the nature of philosophic opinion concerning them. Be that as it may, the
     author recounts with a heavy heart the spectacle of a girl like Laura, really a heroine of rare simplicity and virtue in a
     modern novel, beginning to behave in consonance with all the wry apothegms on womankind. Let us quickly return to our hero,
     and see if he is doing anything that may retrieve the situation.

CHAPTER 4
    Satisfying the reader’s curiosity in some respects
    but provoking it in others, and introducing
    that remarkable character,
    Father Calvin Stanfield, the Faithful Shepherd.
    A URORA D AWN!
    The time has come, reader, for you to know the meaning of the title of this true and moral tale, and at the same time to learn
     the secret of Andrew Reale’s mission to the Fold of the Faithful Shepherd. Learn, then, that “Aurora Dawn” was the name of
     a soap; a pink, pleasant-smelling article distributed throughout the land and modestly advertised as the “fastest-selling”
     soap in America. Whether this meant that sales were transacted more rapidly with Aurora Dawn soap than with any other, the
     customer snatching it out of the druggist’s hand with impolite haste, flinging down a coin and dashing from the store, or
     whether the slogan was trying to say that its sales were increasing more quickly than the sales of any other cleansing bar;
     this is not known. Advertising has restored an Elizabethan elasticity to our drying English prose, often sacrificing explicitness
     for rich color.
    Andrew’s purpose was nothing less than to bring Father Stanfield and his Fold of the Faithful Shepherd on a nationwide radio
     program to make the fastest-selling soap in America sell even faster, Andrew was not employed by the soap company, but by
     the Republic Broadcasting Company, a vast free enterprise rivaled only by the United States Broadcasting System, another private
     property. These two huge corporations monopolized the radio facilities of the land in a state of healthy competition with
     each other, and drew their lifeblood from rich advertising fees which assured the public an uninterrupted flow of entertainment
     by the highest priced comedians, jazz singers, musicians, news analysts, and vaudeville novelties in the land–a gratifying
     contrast to the dreary round of classical music and educational programs which gave government-owned radio chains such a dowdy
     reputation in other countries. This is not to imply that the ingredient of culture