Chapter III

(i)

A LGY awoke early on the morning of the first Saturday in November, and finding sleep impossible, lit a candle, took up a book which he presently laid aside again, and began to doze sometimes open-eyed, staring at the window, sometimes half drowsing. His bedroom was singularly unsuited for romance. It was what is called a comfortable apartment for a single gentleman, and he paid for it the excessive charge of twelve shillings a week. He had done what he could, but there were some things he dared not do. He dared not remove the photograph of the landlady's father, which was exactly like all other photographs of all other landladies' fathers, and which hung over his mantelpiece, nor the black hearthrug resembling the hide of an effeminate retriever. For the rest, the room was fairly inoffensive: he had ventured to take down a text, in a frame, that hung over his bed, and to replace it by a small brass crucifix. His bed was of iron and tarnished brass, his chest of drawers, his wash-hand stand, and his wardrobe, of mahogany. A new bath stood in the middle of his floor upon a new bath-mat: he had found it necessary to buy these things, since s 257 the other single gentleman in the house required the only bath possessed by the house every Saturday night, which made difficulties on Sunday morning. Such was Algy's hired abode in Kensington; and, as he lay there, reflecting that he was due at Esher this evening, and listening to the workmen's trains running into Earl's Court a hundred yards away, he remembered with pleasure that he would have a real bath to-morrow in which he could lie down.

He reflected on a good many things this morning, on Monsignor Dick whom he knew he was to meet, upon Crowston and his own spacious bedroom there which he had forfeited, with its pleasant wall-paper, its stiff chintz bed-curtains, and the opulent suggestion of the footman's entrance with hot water: he even did me the honour, he told me, of reflecting upon me. But chiefly he thought, as so often now, of the curious lull that seemed to have fallen upon him since his final decision in the summer.

Until that time he had experienced a continual discomfort, which he described to me as neuralgia of the soul. It had been enough to spoil everything; yet it was not, so to speak, in the least degree a mortal disease. He knew perfectly well that he was bound by no law of God or man to enter the Keligious Life; he could remain a good Catholic without it; he could marry if he wished, he could succeed tranquilly to Crowston, when the time came, preserve game for seven months and kill it for five, beget sons and daughters, give balls at Christmas, and all the rest of it, no god or man forbidding him. (Mary Maple, of course, occurred to him in this connection, as he reviewed what might have been possible, but gently, without perturbation, almost with pathos. Once or twice, as he dozed there on his back, her serious, pleasant face, framed in brown hair, formed and faded again.) Yet the contemplation of this conceivable future gave him spiritual neuralgia. He enjoyed nothing; it would begin to ache, like its physical correlative, simultaneously with the flush of spiritual pleasure. He had gone on like this for months, arguing with himself, mentioning it resolutely in confession and trying, sometimes with success, to persuade his confessor to call it a scruple. Yet it had ached. Then Chris had taken the matter in hand, and probed deep, with horrible directness, right down to the nerve itself; the pain had been overpowering, and Algy had collapsed.

Since then the ache had marvellously ceased. Instead of it there had welled up in his soul an extraordinarily strange and aromatic kind of pleasure which never altogether left him. I say " aromatic," because it had the effect upon him of a slightly anaesthetic drug, it made everything seem a little unreal; it was of an unusual quality and it was extremely sweet....

He reflected this morning on how very unreal everything was except those large Facts which he had embraced. He did his work in the office, neither better nor worse than usual, but he did it mechanically, He caught his train at nine-five every morning except when he occasionally missed it, he stepped out at the Mansion House, he went along the street and turned up the stone staircase: at his desk he wrote in his ledgers (or whatever they are) and observed Jewish gentlemen in top-hats, and rose at the sound of a certain hand-bell, and all the rest of it; and it was all as unreal as a poorly acted play. It seemed to have no connection with him. Real life, vibrating, absorbing, energetic, lay down there in Sussex behind those high walls in the dead silence of whitewashed rooms and the echoing solitudes of the cloister.

Now I am quite aware that this sounds fantastic nonsense. I say nothing to that. That is not my affair. I am relating what Algy told me of himself, and particularly what he told me of his thoughts this morning as he lay in bed and looked at things with half -shut eyes.

It was in this aspect, too, that he looked forward to Esher. Without a touch of contempt, only of wonder, he regarded life as he would find it there — the life of Crowston in another setting — the same solemnities, the elaborations of existence, the earnest zeal with which time would be carefully killed — bled to death — the overwhelming gravity with which the hours for meals, the precedence of persons, and the rules for doing unimportant things would be observed. He did not underrate rules and methods; they were necessary of course for the preservation of the object for which they were designed: he would find himself, at Parkminster, under far more stringent rules than those he had known; but with regard to Esher and Crowston he asked himself in vain what was the object which these did enshrine; and he found no answer. They seemed to be ends in themselves.

He thought presently again about Mary Maple. He knew nothing of course of her approach to the Church; and yet, in an impersonal way, he found himself a little uneasy when he thought of her. He had been extraordinarily fond of her a few months ago, though in that queer idealistic way I have described, and that had given him, it seemed, a certain insight, as it generally does. Love which, as the proverb implies, loses at least one eye, seems to have the other remarkably enlightened: and it appeared to Algy that Mary, too, had been a little discontented with her existence. Most of Algy's old friends had done nothing in particular, but Mary was the only one of them who had ever shown any signs of not being wholly satisfied with it all. She had shown it, he thought, by her silences, by chance sentences, by an air which she occasionally wore. He knew he was to meet her at Esher this evening; he wondered whether he would say anything to her....

So there he lay this morning, sleepily content, pondering, expectant, till it was time to get up. He was agreeably moved, in spite of his views, by the prospect of Esher: it would be pleasant to lie down to-night in a decent bedroom with agreeable furniture; it would be pleasant, in a superficial sort of way, to have really nice things to eat, to move in the atmosphere that he had lost and that he would lose far more finally when the proper time came. He did not in the least yearn after the flesh-pots: he was bound for the wilderness with a good heart, but it was not altogether uncongenial to find on the edge of it, for perhaps the last time, a well-served meal and a real spring bed, and to be called by a deft footman.

It would be pleasant, too, to talk with all these people again who moved always in such surroundings — with even the Bras teds, and Monsignor Dick, and with whomever else happened to be there, and with Mary Maple.

I have set all this down at length because it will be useful to bear in mind in what mood Algy went to Esher.

(n)

I have been there myself. The house is an extremely pleasant and comfortable one; and the Brasteds have somehow managed, I suppose, tacitly, to divide it very adroitly into the Church and the world. The dining-room and hall are neutral ground; the rest consists of two territories. It is the only way, I suppose, of keeping the peace. The drawing-room, Lady Brasted's morning-room, and a charming little oak-parlour where smoking is permitted, are all ecclesiastical: the library, the smoking-room proper, and the study are secular. It is really an ingenious arrangement. Priests and ecclesiastical laymen somehow tend to find themselves smoking in the oakparlour: a woman naturally goes to the drawing-room, or, if she is definitely secular, to the library. I found when I was there that the oak-parlour was supposed to be my destination always; yet — I blush to confess it — I was more often to be found in the smoking-room. Somehow I do not take to Lady Brasted's ecclesiasticism. I even said my office in the library in preference to anywhere else.

Hither then came poor Algy, just in time for dinner, to find already assembled in the hall his host and hostess, Mr. Jack Hamilton, Monsignor Yolland, and Miss Mary Maple. The Church was plainly holding her own. He made his salutations and apologies and ran upstairs to dress, vaguely pleased, as he had expected.

Nothing particular happened that evening. He did not even sit next Mary. She sang a song or two in the drawing-room afterwards; and he saw without a qualm — in fact, with a faint detached amusement — Jack Hamilton hand her her candle. He remembered his old ambitions. He joined in the rather desultory conversation in the smoking-room, and looked rather white and tired; at least so Dick told me. But he liked it all very much, he told me himself.

Again, next morning, nothing particular happened. He served Dick's mass in church; came back to breakfast, and spent the time till lunch chiefly in the library. Lady Brasted and Miss Maple went to the eleven o'clock mass. It was not until after lunch that Lady Bras ted opened fire.

She lured him first to the oak-parlour, and then begged of him to smoke.

Now it must be remembered that Algy had no conception that she was in the least interested in his future, or that she linked, in the remotest way, Mary's name and his in her mind. It was scarcely possible for Dick to warn him! So when she began to talk about Mary, Algy, still with that sense of the extreme unreality and unimportance of such things, of which I have spoken, responded warmly. Lady Brasted really did it very well.

" You know dear Mary is under instruction? " she said suddenly.

" Good Lord, no! " said Algy, really startled. " I didn't indeed."

" Why, yes," murmured the lady. " Monsignor didn't tell you? "

" Of course not. Why? Is he instructing her? "

" I thought you would be sure to know. Of course, it's quite private at present."

This rather woke up Algy. He had no idea even that Mary was dreaming of such a thing. He began to think of her with a new interest again.

Then Lady Brasted played her second card.

" You know, Mr. Algy, I think it must have been you who first put it into her mind. She has spoken to me of you so often, and of your courage in telling them at Crows ton."

(This was a little crude, I think; and Algy would surely have begun to suspect something if he had not been in that queer mood. But he has assured me that he suspected nothing.)

Then Lady Bras ted went on, really very cleverly indeed, to talk about Mary's confidences to herself. Algy's own name was not so much as breathed again. It was just a very artistic and moving picture of a simple soul finding its way to the light. Lady Bras-ted's voice can tremble rather touchingly on occasions; and it did so several times this afternoon. She spoke of Mary as a "poor child "; she managed to suggest youthfulness, inexperience, and deep, untrained spirituality; and, in Algy's unpractical and remote mood, it had a very considerable effect. He was quite off his guard; he heard as a priest hears such tales; it did not come within the range of the most imaginative possibility that all this had any personal bearing on himself, since he regarded himself now as pledged to another life. Yet, at the same time, it did its work sufficiently. It began, so far as such external details touched him at all just now, to reawaken his interest in Mary. A very faint veil of romance began to shroud her figure again, though he heard the talk now but as a story. He reflected once or twice on the strangeness of the situation, that whereas three months ago all this would have been of palpitating interest, now it was hardly more than academical.

"Well," concluded Lady Brasted, "I expect she will tell you this evening herself. She is sure to, I think. Poor child! You must help her if you

Algy sat on a minute or two, after his hostess had rustled away, smiling gently to himself. How discreet Monsignor had been, he told himself! Then again, still academically, he began to day-dream.

He thought of his own calf-love of a little over a year ago; and of what Mary had seemed to him then. What a mysterious thing this Love was, this extraordinary, unreasoning adoration.... It had waned then. Then, like an Indian summer it had half revived, when he was struggling to escape from the insistent voice in his soul. Then he had definitely rejected it; and now, once more, circumstances adjusted themselves to an almost perfect frame for its reawakening. Then, with what would have been culpable rashness, if Algy had been himself, he began, as a purely imaginative picture, to reconstruct the future as it might be. Certainly Mary was a good deal older than he was; but that did not matter much. She was very acceptable at Crowston; he liked her extremely; he could, no doubt, even revive romance. She was to be a Catholic then!... How ideal life might be at Crowston with her.... They could build a little chapel!...

Then he suddenly jerked his head, woke up smiling at himself, and went briskly out to find Dick.

(m)

They went a little walk in the falling rain, looked in at the church and came back to tea in the hall. The two ladies were there. Brasted and Jack came in rather late; and when all was done, Algy, scarcely with any programme, yet conscious that something was expected of him, moved off to the oakparlour.

It is a most charming little room, though faintly suggestive of a really first-rate house-decorator. Lady Brasted bought the panelling as it stood from a Jacobean manor house, at a great price; she had it fitted into this room, and then proceeded to furnish it with articles of precisely the right date — Jacobean tables and chairs, an open hearth with steel dogs and fire-plate, a couple of chests, a piece of tapestry, and a stiff-looking couch of extreme comfort. There are sconces on the walls, fitted with wax candles. In fact, it is a room of real beauty on the one side, and of repulsive perfection on the other. But it is a seductive little room.

Algy sat down on the couch and began to consider.

He was just very slightly excited. He would have been a mature saint if he had not been. The unreality as still there; and in this, I suppose, he found reurance. He mistook it for real detachment, which t certainly is not. Naturally he thought about Mary with an agreeable sense of condescension and pity....

bee ts 1 j

After about a quarter of an hour the door opened and she came in.

I despair of describing dresses; but she wore, I understand, what is known as a tea-gown of some rather rich, dark, silky material; her splendid hair was done up in the proper manner; and she came rustling forward as upright as a dart, carrying her head superbly.

She began by paying him the exquisite compliment of saying nothing. She just knelt down by the fire and spread her beautiful hands to the red glow, allowing her deep sleeves to fall back and show her arms to the elbow. And still she said nothing for a while.

This silence was a masterpiece. It established an intimacy at once. Algy strove to make a commonplace remark; but he was not bold enough to speak of the weather. Anything would be bathos, it would even be profane.

Then she looked at him suddenly, sideways, still with her hands outstretched.

" Annie has told you, she says? "

" Yes; just now."

' You congratulate me? "

" Of course I do."

Again silence fell. Mary shifted a little, raising one knee and resting her elbows across it.

It began to seem to Algy as if the unreality were fading a little. It was all so intimate and so pleasant. Her company was full of Crowston associations too.

lips were parted; she was looking steadily at the fire; her eyes had that strange brilliance that comes when light rises on to the face from beneath; her face was extraordinarily young and childish in the glow....

Then, without any warning, Algy's heart began to hammer, and that odd contraction of the throat seized on him, which shows that one part of the nature at least is profoundly stirred. At the same time a thrill, at once icy and tingling, ran through him, a mist passed over his eyes and went again; and Algy became aware that something had happened to him entirely new in his experience. (It is exceedingly difficult to put it into words; yet I must do my best.)

jijFirst, then, that veil of unreality, which had lain upon him so long, was gone in a clap, the material world asserted itself; and he perceived that he was a man in the world of men and that Mary was a woman. It was not in the least the old idealism; it was something else of which he had known nothing, and it shook his curbed nature like a sudden storm. In a sense, he perceived what had happened, that it was his own fault, and yet he did not care. It was as a flood of wine, drenching his soul, intoxicating by its fumes, lifting him on its surge. He lay there tossing, knowing that he had but to relinquish the tiny mechanical effort that he still made, and that he would drown in sweetness.

He knew everything in this moment — that Mary loved him, that she waited for him to speak, that brace, demanding the satiety that they alone could give. They stood there, welcoming him, crying for him in return.... In an instant he would seize them in his arms.

So, then, in this moment of perception, he hung between the two worlds, in a delirious delight of hesitation. The brink of wine rose to his lips, and he held them there, glorying in its sweetness, delaying in sheer luxury the action that would make it his.... He waited for a movement from the other.

Then it came.

Very slowly she shifted her position once more, lowering her knee, leaning back a little as if to lift her face from the fire. He saw the edge of keen light run up her as she moved; her supple waist, her strong shoulders, the curve of throat and chin and the gleam in her eyes and on her brown-gold hair. Then she began slowly to lift her eyes to his....

There was a step in the hall, and Dick came in abruptly.

" Hullo, Algy! " he said.

(IV)

Dick had been vaguely uncomfortable after tea. He had sat on with the Brasteds a minute or two after Mary's departure. Jack too had strolled off to the smoking-room, but Brasted still lingered. He had really rather neglected his guests this afternoon, and, I suppose, wished to make amends.

Then he too went, and Dick was left with his hostess.

Now Dick had no definite suspicions of Algy. He guessed the cobweb intricacies that Annie Brasted was weaving; but he did not fear them; Algy's purpose was surely too strong.

He had noticed that there was something odd about the boy this time, though he could scarcely have put it into words. He told me later that all day the other had seemed to look at him from beneath a mask. There are some faces that seem so always, some become so by training; it is said, I do not know with what justice, that the faces of priests are usually of this kind.

" No," Dick said to me. "He was not particularly troubled-looking, not sad at all, but just odd. When he talked to the others he was quite ordinary and quiet; he was exactly all that a poseur is not. But once or twice on the Sunday I saw something look out suddenly. It was like a face peeping from under a blind. But the worst of it was that I could not see its expression. Only, there it was; and then the blind dropped again. Do I remember what it was that was being said or done? Yes, I do happen to remember. Once it was when Miss Maple mentioned Crowston; he looked up at her quite suddenly; and another time I was saying something about a man I knew who had just died. It was something quite ordinary about how very upsetting it must be for certain kinds of people to die.... Yes; if you will have it, it was what is called the ' Inner Life ' T 273 that looked out; I suppose one must call it that. But he hadn't got that look a year ago.... I'd almost say, six months ago."

It was this that, remarkably enough, had reassured Dick!

About Mary he was not so confident. She had come to him after his return in the summer, and after an interview or two had begged to be placed under instruction. Now what could Dick do? Mary seemed to know her reasons well enough; Lady Brasted had provided for that; and, by the end of October, Dick was convinced of her sincerity. Yet it was useless to pretend that there was not another motive mixed up in it all. (Lady Brasted had provided for that too.) Whether or no Mary was actually in love with Algy — of this Dick did not attempt to judge — at least she proposed to marry him; and what would happen when the girl heard that this young man was destined for Religion? Dick did the only possible thing. He dawdled. Yet he knew that Christmas must see the end.

He became, then, vaguely uncomfortable, when Mary had gone off without a word, after Algy, with Lady Brasted's eyes carefully not following her.

Lady Brasted still continued her small talk. It was connected with Italy, and some view or another of a white convent with cypresses where she had once stayed. She kept it up very well, but Dick became restless, and she saw it.

" Do just come through into my room," she said, rising. " I should so like to show you a little sketch I made."

A sudden resolution came to Dick.

" One instant," he said. " May I just get something from the oak-room? I'll come directly."

" I shan't keep you a moment," said Lady Bras ted; " and I rather think "

Dick pretended not to hear. It was extremely rude, but it was the only way.

" One moment," he said, and disappeared up the hall.

When he saw the two there, he determined to postpone seeing the sketch for the present.

" Hullo, Algy," he said; and then: " I say, you haven't seen my breviary? "

Algy got up without a word. The fire had sunk to a splendid red, and it was impossible to see his face. He looked silently on the couch behind him. Mary still knelt at the fire.

" May I just light the candles? " said Dick genially.

When the candles were alight, Mary stood up and turned her back on the fire.

" I can't see it anywhere," said Dick; and it was no wonder, since it was in the library, and he knew it perfectly well. Then he looked at the two.

Algy was very white indeed, with a very strained look in his eyes. Mary seemed perfectly serene and, still standing before the hearth, glanced this way and that.

" Is it black morocco? " she said, without a note of discomposure.

" That's it."

" Then I think I saw it in the library."

" I'll have a look," said Algy abruptly and rather hoarsely; and he vanished.

" Were you talking? " asked Dick hypocritically, still not knowing what to think.

" Yes," said Mary. "I've just told him about myself."

She was so serene that Dick thought himself a fool for even his vague suspicions. She stood quite naturally, her hands behind her, and spoke straight. Dick had a distinct sense of satisfaction in looking at her. He determined that it was all right, and that he was a fool.

" I mustn't interrupt you," he said. " Lady Brasted's going to show me something. I'll just go after Algy."

He went out, passed across the hall, opened the door of the library and went in.

Algy was standing perfectly rigid by the mantelpiece, staring into the fire, with the book in his hands; and even now he did not take in the situation.

" Good Lord," he said; " was it there? "

Algy handed it him without a word.

" What's the matter, Algy? "

The boy did not move. Dick went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

" What's the matter? " he said again.

Algy looked at him a moment, his eyes burning out of his white face. Then he got up, and stood, staring steadily at the priest.

" I will tell you then," he said slowly. "It is this. I understand now what I am going to. I did not before."

Dick struggled to keep his attitude of faint contempt. He still feared something resembling hysterics. But he was more terrified at something else.

" You had better," he said. " I suppose, at least, you mean the Religious Life."

" Just so," said Algy. "I mean the Religious Life."

" There are two sides to that," observed the priest; " they don't want emotional devots."

Every word was an effort. He felt overpowered by something about this boy; yet he fought bravely to keep his head. It was as if he faced a tiger.

Algy thrust his face a little nearer.

" Yes," he said; " God is cruel.... Oh! I am not blaspheming. He demands everything."

" How dare " began the priest.

I" I am aware they do not want emotional devots," snarled Algy. " That is exactly why I am going.... Look here, Monsignor, I thank God I know what it means now. Does that content you? "

(v)

Lady Brasted was waiting in some annoyance, with her sketch-book spread before her on a little table, and herself in a deep arm-chair. She wished that priests were not so imperceptive. Here was this dear, good Monsignor, blundering like a blue-fly into her pious little web, to the shocking discomposure of its captives.

She had no particular motive, I gather, for her scheme, except that which is perhaps the most powerful motive known to man, namely an intention to have her own way and to manage people. She had conceived an idea that it would be very beautiful for these two young persons to marry — both converts, both old friends. A large section of her nature was really stupid — that section which deals with principles; the other, dealing with details and nuances and shades, was rather subtle. Her Italian convents showed that; the drawing was bad, especially the perspective; the details and the colours were quite beautiful. She liked, too, to patronise Mary.

She heard the steps come out of the oak-room, first one and then the other, and go across to the library. Then the door shut; and a long pause ensued.

She stood up at last, when ten minutes had passed, in a sort of holy impatience; and, as she was considering what was best to do, the door suddenly opened and Dick came in.

He looked rather odd, she thought; he breathed quickly, as a man who has been running, and his expression generally was not genial.

" At last, Monsignor! " she said.

" May I speak to you? " said Dick.

Quite suddenly she too felt perturbed. The man looked angry. She could not conceive what it was all about. As she looked at him, paling a little, again she heard steps come out of the library, cross the hall and begin to go upstairs.

" Why, certainly," she said, and sat down again. Dick still stood on the edge of the hearth-rug, where he had halted. His head was thrust forward a little, like a bull, and he still breathed sharply.

" Lady Brasted," he said, " you must forgive me if I seem impertinent; but I want to ask you a question. It is this. Are you trying to bring about a marriage between Miss Maple and Algy? "

Gentle, spiritual-looking women occasionally have a touch of vixenish temper in their characters. If their aspirations are to spirituality they can generally keep this (greatly to their credit) under control, even interiorly. But this horribly direct question pricked Lady Brasted very sharply indeed. She flushed, ever so slightly, and a little sharpness came into her delicate face.

"Is that — er — a question you have any business to ask, Monsignor? "

Dick shifted a little on his feet; then he straightened himself.

" I dare say not," he said. " Certainly not, if you do not wish to answer it. I beg your pardon then.... But then I must just say what I have to say. It is this. If anybody has any idea of a possible marriage between Algy and Miss Maple, I should like it to be made quite clear to them that it will not do.... I see I must be perfectly frank. Algy is hoping to enter Religion.... That is quite private, if you please, except for the purpose I have implied. If you think that — er — that any one should know this, who is likely to be interested in the scheme of this marriage, it would be a charity to let them know the facts."

Dick bowed, rather pompously, and turned away.

" Stop! " cried Lady Brasted — and he stopped,

" I don't understand in the least, Monsignor. This is quite new, isn't it? "

Dick hesitated. Then he smiled carefully.

" You must allow me, too, not to answer that," he said. " I have leave from Algy to say as much as I have said, but no more."

He saw her flush again, slightly. He rather admired her self-control. Then she leaned back more easily.

" Dear me," she said quietly. " This is a great surprise to me. And do you think he really has a Vocation? "

Dick jerked his head a little.

" May I sit down a moment? " he said. (This kind of pompous fencing seemed to him ridiculous. He determined to be frank.)

" Let me be quite plain," he said. " I know you won't be offended. May I really speak out? "

" Please do," she said, with quite a pleasant smile.

" Well — honestly — I think it's a pity to interfere. I know you mean to be kind, and don't want anything at all but Algy's good; but, really and truly, as a priest, I do ask you not to do anything more just now. It's a long story, and I could not possibly tell you all the details; but it comes to this. I am perfectly convinced— more than ever now from something that has just happened — that this boy has got a Vocation. I think it's a dreadful pity to distract him and complicate matters just now; and, I don't think it's quite fair to Miss Maple. May I ask you, quite simply, to leave things alone for the present? His people don't know yet. They will have to be told. There are a heap of complications.... Please don't add to them, Lady Bras ted."

Dick would have disarmed a child. But Lady Brasted was not a child. She was a rather suspicious and very elaborate woman. She was silent a moment, from sheer annoyance. It was intolerable that she should be told her business by an imperceptive priest.

" And you think Miss Maple should be warned off? " she said sweetly.

It was Dick's turn to flush.

" Please don't think of me as having formed any opinion at all about Miss Maple. I simply say what I think best."

Lady Brasted looked at the fire without speaking.

"It is very kind of you to take all this trouble, Monsignor; I felt sure that dear Mr. Algy was in good and careful hands."

Dick glanced up. But there was not a trace of sarcasm in her tone or air.

« Then " he began.

There were steps in the hall, the rustle of a dress; Dick stood up hastily and Mary walked in.

" Thank you so much, Lady Brasted," he said. " I really must go and say office."

There was silence for a minute or two after the door closed.

" Did you have a pleasant talk, my dear? " purred Annie.

Mary knelt down by the fire, as she had knelt just now in the oak-room; and again she said nothing.

" I am so sorry our little week-end is almost finished," went on the other tranquilly. " You must come down again, Mary dear, before Christmas; and Mr. Algy must come too."