"Good patience! Twenty-five cents for a hard day's work!" said Mrs.Wishart. "A dollar and a half a week! Where is bread to come from, tokeep them alive to do it?"

"Better die at once, I should say," echoed Madge.

"Many a one would be glad of that alternative, I doubt not," Mr.Dillwyn went on. "But there is perhaps an old mother to be taken careof, or a child or two to feed and bring up."

"Don't talk about it!" said Mrs. Wishart. "It makes me feel blue."

"I must risk that. I want you to think about it. Where is help to comefrom? These are the people I was thinking of, when I asked you what wasto be done with our poor."

"I don't know why you ask me. I can do nothing. It is not mybusiness."

"Will it do to assume that as quite certain?"

"Why yes. What can I do with a set of master tailors?"

"You can cry down the cheap shops; and say why."

"Are the dear shops any better?"

Mr. Dillwyn laughed. "Presumably! But talking – even your talking – willnot do all. I want you to think about it."

"I don't want to think about it," answered the lady. "It's beyond me.Poverty is people's own fault. Industrious and honest people can alwaysget along."

"If sickness does not set in, or some father, or husband, or son doesnot take to bad ways."

"How can I help all that?" asked the lady somewhat pettishly. "I neverknew you were in the benevolent and reformatory line before, Mr.Dillwyn. What has put all this in your head?"

"Those scarfs, for one thing. Another thing was a visit I had latelyoccasion to make. It was near midday. I found a room as bare as a roomcould be, of all that we call comfort; in the floor a small pine tableset with three plates, bread, cold herrings, and cheese. That was thedinner for a little boy, whom I found setting the table, and his fatherand mother. The parents work in a factory hard by, from early to late; they have had sickness in the family this autumn, and are too poor toafford a fire to eat their dinner by, or to make it warm, so the otherchild, a little girl, has been sent away for the winter. It wasfrostily cold the day I was there. The boy goes to school in theafternoon, and comes home in time to light up a fire for his father andmother to warm themselves by at evening. And the mother has all herhousework to do after she comes home."

"That's better than the other case," said Mrs. Wishart.

"But what could be done, Mr. Dillwyn?" said Lois from her corner. "Itseems as if something was wrong. But how could it be mended?"

"I want Mrs. Wishart to consider of that."

"I can't consider it!" said the lady. "I suppose it is intended thatthere should be poor people always, to give us something to do."

"Then let us do it."

"How?"

"I am not certain; but I make a suggestion. Suppose all the ladies ofthis city devoted their diamonds to this purpose. Then any number ofdwelling-houses could be put up; separate, but so arranged as to bewarmed by steam from a general centre, at a merely nominal cost foreach one; well ventilated and comfortable; so putting an end to theenormity of tenement houses. Then a commission might be established tolook after the rights of the poor; to see that they got proper wages, were not cheated, and that all should have work who wanted it. So muchmight be done."

"With no end of money."

"I proposed to take the diamonds of the city, you know."

"And why just the diamonds?" inquired Mrs. Wishart. "Why don't youspeak of some of the indulgences of the men? Take the horses – or thewines – "

"I am speaking to a lady," said Dillwyn, smiling. "When I have a man toapply to, I will make my application accordingly."

"Ask him for his tobacco?" said Mrs. Wishart.

"Certainly for his tobacco. There is as much money spent in this cityfor tobacco as there is for bread."

Madge exclaimed in incredulous astonishment; and Lois asked if thediamonds of the city would amount to very much.

"Yes, Miss Lois. American ladies are very fond of diamonds; and it is acommon thing for one of them to have from ten thousand to twentythousand or thirty thousand dollars' worth of them as part of theadornment of her pretty person at one time."

"Twenty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds on at once!" cried Madge.

"I call that wicked!"

"Why?" asked Mr. Dillwyn, smiling.

"There's no wickedness in it," said Mrs. Wishart. "How should it bewicked? You put on a flower; and another, who can afford it, puts on adiamond. What's the difference?"

"My flower does not cost anybody anything," said Madge.

"What do my diamonds cost anybody?" returned Mrs. Wishart.

Madge was silent, though not because she had nothing to say; and atthis precise moment the door opened, and visitors were ushered in.

CHAPTER XLI
CHESS

There entered upon the scene, that is, a little lady of very gay andairy manner; whose airiness, however, was thoroughly well bred. She wasaccompanied by a tall, pleasant-looking man, of somewhat dreamy aspect; and they were named to Lois and Madge as Mrs. and Mr. Burrage. To Mr.Dillwyn they were not named; and the greet ing in that quarter wasfamiliar; the lady giving him a nod, and the gentleman an easy "Goodevening." The lady's attention came round to him again as soon as shewas seated.

"Why, Philip, I did not expect to find you. What are you doing here?"

"I was making toast a little while ago."

"I did not know that was one of your accomplishments."

"They said I did it well. I have picked up a good deal of cooking inthe course of my travels."

"In what part of the world did you learn to make toast?" asked thelady, while a pair of lively eyes seemed to take note rapidly of allthat was in the room; rapidly but carefully, Lois thought. She was gladshe herself was hidden in the shadowy sofa corner.

"I believe that is always learned in a cold country, where people havefire," Mr. Dillwyn answered the question.

"These people who travel all over get to be insufferable!" the littlelady went on, turning to Mrs. Wishart; "they think they knoweverything; and they are not a bit wiser than the rest of us. You werenot at the De Large's luncheon, – what a pity! I know; your cold shutyou up. You must take care of that cold. Well, you lost something. Thisis the seventh entertainment that has been given to that English party; and every one of them has exceeded the others. There is nothing leftfor the eighth. Nobody will dare give an eighth. One is fairly tiredwith the struggle of magnificence. It's the battle of the giants overagain, with a difference."

"It is not a battle with attempt to destroy," said her husband.

"Yes, it is – to destroy competition. I have been at every one of theseven but one – and I am absolutely tired with splendour. But there isreally nothing left for any one else to do. I don't see how one is togo any further – without the lamp of Aladdin."

"A return to simplicity would be grateful," remarked Mrs. Wishart. "Andas new as anything else could be."

"Simplicity! O, my dear Mrs. Wishart! – don't talk of simplicity. Wedon't want simplicity. We have got past that. Simplicity is the dreamof children and country folks; and it means, eating your meat with yourfingers."

"It's the sweetest way of all," said Dillwyn.

"Where did you discover that? It must have been among savages.

Children – country folks —and savages, I ought to have said."

"Orientals are not savages. On the contrary, very far exceeding inpoliteness any western nation I know of."

"You would set a table, then, with napkins and fingers! Or are thenapkins not essential?"

"C'est selon," said Dillwyn. "In a strawberry bed, or under a cherrytree, I should vote them a nuisance. At an Asiatic grandee's table youwould have them embroidered and perfumed; and one for your lap andanother for your lips."

"Evidently they are long past the stage of simplicity. Talking ofnapkins we had them embroidered – and exquisitely – Japanese work; at theDe Larges'. Mine had a peacock in one corner; or I don't know if it wasa peacock; it was a gay-feathered bird – "

"A peacock has a tail," suggested Mr. Dillwyn.

"Well, I don't know whether it had a tail, but it was most exquisite;in blue and red and gold; I never saw anything prettier. And at everyplate were such exquisite gifts! really elegant, you know. Flowers areall very well; but when it comes to jewellery, I think it is a littlebeyond good taste. Everybody can't do it, you know; and it is ratherembarrassing to nous autres."

"Simplicity has its advantages," observed Mr. Dillwyn.

"Nonsense, Philip! You are as artificial a man as any one I know."

"In what sense?" asked Mr. Dillwyn calmly. "You are bound to explain, for the sake of my character, that I do not wear false heels to myboots."

"Don't be ridiculous! You have no need to wear false heels. Art neednot be false, need it?"

"True art never is," said Mr. Dillwyn, amid some laughter.

"Well, artifice, then?"

"Artifice, I am afraid, is of another family, and not allied to truth."

"Well, everybody that knows you knows you are true; but they know, too, that if ever there was a fastidious man, it is you; and a man thatwants everything at its last pitch of refinement."

"Which desirable stage I should say the luncheon you were describinghad not reached."

"You don't know. I had not told you the half. Fancy! – the ice floatedin our glasses in the form of pond lilies; as pretty as possible, withbroad leaves and buds."

"How did they get it in such shapes?" asked Madge, with her eyes atrifle wider open than was usual with them.

"O, froze it in moulds, of course. But you might have fancied thefairies had carved it. Then, Mrs. Wishart, there was an arrangement ofglasses over the gas burners, which produced the most silver sounds ofmusic you ever heard; no chime, you know, of course; but a mostpeculiar, sweet, mysterious succession of musical breathings. Add tothat, by means of some invisible vaporizers, the whole air was filledwith sweetness; now it was orange flowers, and now it was roses, andthen again it would be heliotrope or violets; I never saw anything sorefined and so exquisite in my life. Waves of sweetness, rising andfalling, coming and going, and changing; it was perfect."

The little lady delivered herself of this description with muchanimation, accompanying the latter part of it with a soft waving of herhand; which altogether overcame Philip's gravity, and he burst into alaugh, in which Mr. Burrage presently joined him; and Lois and Madgefound it impossible not to follow.

"What's the matter, Philip?" the lady asked.

"I am reminded of an old gentleman I once saw at Gratz; he was copyingthe Madonna della Seggia in a mosaic made with the different-colouredwax heads of matches."

"He must have been out of his head."

"That was the conclusion I came to."

"Pray what brought him to your remembrance just then?"

"I was thinking of the different ways people take in the search afterhappiness."

"And one worth as much as another, I suppose you mean? That is a matterof taste. Mrs. Wishart, I see your happiness is cared for, in havingsuch charming friends with you. O, by the way! – talking ofseeing, —have you seen Dulles & Grant's new Persian rugs and carpets?"

"I have been hardly anywhere. I wanted to take Madge to see Brett's

Collection of Paintings; but I have been unequal to any exertion."

"Well, the first time you go anywhere, go to Dulles & Grant's. Take herto see those. Pictures are common; but these Turkish rugs and thingsare not. They are the most exquisite, the most odd, the most deliciousthings you ever saw. I have been wanting to ruin myself with them eversince I saw them. It's high art, really. Those Orientals are wonderfulpeople! There is one rug – it is as large as this floor, nearly, – well,it is covered with medallions in old gold, set in a wild, irregulardesign of all sorts of Cashmere shawl colours – thrown about anyhow; andyet the effect is rich beyond description; simple, too. Another, – O,that is very rare; it is a rare Keelum carpet; let me see if I candescribe it. The ground is a full bright red. Over this run palm leavesand little bits of ruby and maroon and gold mosaic; and between thepalm leaves come great ovals of olive mixed with black, blue, andyellow; shading off into them. I never saw anything I wanted so much."

"What price?"

"O, they are all prices. The Keelum carpet is only fifteen hundred – butmy husband says it is too much. Then another Persian carpet has acentre of red and white. Round this a border of palm leaves. Roundthese another border of deliciously mixed up warm colours; warm andrich. Then another border of palms; and then the rest of the carpet isin blended shades of dark dull red and pink, with olive flowers thrownover it. O, I can't tell you the half. You must go and see. They haveimmensely wide borders, all of them; and great thick, soft piles."

"Have you been to Brett's Collection?"

"Yes."

"What is there?"

"The usual thing. O, but I haven't told you what I have come here forto-night."

"I thought it was, to see me."

"Yes, but not for pleasure, this time," said the lively lady, laughing."I had business – I really do have business sometimes. I came thisevening, because I wanted to see you when I could have a chance toexplain myself. Mrs. Wishart, I want you to take my place. They havemade me first directress of the Forlorn Children's Home."

"Does the epithet apply to the place? or to the children?" Mr. Dillwynasked.

"Now I cannot undertake the office," Mrs. Burrage went on withoutheeding him. "My hands are as full as they can hold, and my headfuller. You must take it, Mrs. Wishart. You are just the person."

"I?" said Mrs. Wishart, with no delighted expression. "What are theduties?"

"O, just oversight, you know; keeping things straight. Everybody needsto be kept up to the mark. I cannot, for our Reading Club meets just atthe time when I ought to be up at the Home."

The ladies went into a closer discussion of the subject in its variousbearings; and Mr. Dillwyn and Madge returned to their chess play. Loislay watching and thinking. Mr. Burrage looked on at the chess-board, and made remarks on the game languidly. By and by the talk of the twoladies ceased, and the head of Mrs. Burrage came round, and she alsostudied the chess-players. Her face was observant and critical, Loisthought; oddly observant and thoughtful.

"Where did you get such charming friends to stay with you, Mrs.

Wishart? You are to be envied."

Mrs. Wishart explained, how Lois had been ill, and had come to get wellunder her care.

"You must bring them to see me. Will you? Are they fond of music? Bringthem to my next musical evening."

And then she rose; but before taking leave she tripped across to Lois'scouch and came and stood quite close to her, looking at her for amoment in what seemed to the girl rather an odd silence.

"You aren't equal to playing chess yet?" was her equally odd abruptquestion. Lois's smile showed some amusement.

"My brother is such an idle fellow, he has got nothing better to dothan to amuse sick people. It's charity to employ him. And when you areable to come out, if you'll come to me, you shall hear some good music.Good-bye!"

Her brother! thought Lois as she went off. Mr. Dillwyn, her brother!

I don't believe she likes Madge and me to know him.

Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Chauncey Burrage drove away in silence for a fewminutes; then the lady broke out.

"There's mischief there, Chauncey!"

"What mischief?" the gentleman asked innocently.

"Those girls."

"Very handsome girls. At least the one that was visible."

"The other's worse. I saw her. The one you saw is handsome; but theother is peculiar. She is rare. Maybe not just so handsome, but morerefined; and peculiar. I don't know just what it is in her; but shefascinated me. Masses of auburn hair – not just auburn – more of a goldentint than brown – with a gold reflet, you know, that is so lovely; anda face – "

"Well, what sort of a face?" asked Mr. Burrage, as his spouse paused.

"Something between a baby and an angel, and yet with a sort of sybillook of wisdom. I believe she put one of Domenichino's sybils into myhead; there's that kind of complexion – "

"My dear," said the gentleman, laughing, "you could not tell whatcomplexion she was of. She was in a shady corner."

"I was quite near her. Now that sort of thing might just catch Philip."

"Well," said the gentleman, "you cannot help that."

"I don't know if I can or no!"

"Why should you want to help it, after all?"

"Why? I don't want Philip to make a mis-match."

"Why should it be a mis-match?"

"Philip has got too much money to marry a girl with nothing."

Mr. Burrage laughed. His wife demanded to know what he was laughing at?and he said "the logic of her arithmetic."

"You men have no more logic in action, than we women have inspeculation. I am logical the other way."

"That is too involved for me to follow. But it occurs to me to ask, Whyshould there be any match in the case here?"

"That's so like a man! Why shouldn't there? Take a man like my brother, who don't know what to do with himself; a man whose eye and ear arerefined till he judges everything according to a standard ofbeauty; – and give him a girl like that to look at! I said she remindedme of one of Domenichino's sybils – but it isn't that. I'll tell youwhat it is. She is like one of Fra Angelico's angels. Fancy Philip setdown opposite to one of Fra Angelico's angels in flesh and blood!"

"Can a man do better than marry an angel?"

"Yes! so long as he is not an angel himself, and don't live in

Paradise."

"They do not marry in Paradise," said Mr. Burrage dryly. "But why afellow may not get as near a paradisaical condition as he can, with thedrawback of marriage, and in this mundane sphere, – I do not see."

"Men never see anything till afterwards. I don't know anything aboutthis girl, Chauncey, except her face. But it is just the way with men,to fall in love with a face. I do not know what she is, only she isnobody; and Philip ought to marry somebody. I know where they are from.She has no money, and she has no family; she has of course no breeding; she has probably no education, to fit her for being his wife. Philipought to have the very reverse of all that. Or else he ought not tomarry at all, and let his money come to little Phil Chauncey."

"What are you going to do about it?" asked the gentleman, seemingamused.

But Mrs. Burrage made no answer, and the rest of the drive, long as itwas, was rather stupid.

CHAPTER XLII
RULES

The next day Mr. Dillwyn came to take Madge to see Brett's Collectionof Paintings. Mrs. Wishart declared herself not yet up to it. Madgecame home in a great state of delight.

"It was so nice!" she explained to her sister; "just as nice as itcould be. Mr. Dillwyn was so pleasant; and told me everything and abouteverything; about the pictures, and the masters; I shouldn't have knownwhat anything meant, but he explained it all. And it was such fun tosee the people."

"The people!" said Lois.

"Yes. There were a great many people; almost a crowd; and it did amuse me to watch them."

"I thought you went to see the paintings."

"Well, I saw the paintings; and I heard more about them than I can everremember."

"What was there?"

"O, I can't tell you. Landscapes and landscapes; and then HolyFamilies; and saints in misery, of one sort or another; andbattle-pieces, but those were such confusion that all I could make outwas horses on their hind-legs; and portraits. I think it is nonsensefor people to try to paint battles; they can't do it; and, besides, asfar as the fighting goes, one fight is just like another. Mr. Dillwyntold me of a travelling showman, in Germany, who travelled about withthe panorama of a battle; and every year he gave it a new name, thename of the last battle that was in men's mouths; and all he had to dowas to change the uniforms, he said. He had a pot of green paint forthe Prussians, and red for the English, and blue, I believe, for theFrench, and so on; and it did just as well."

"What did you see that you liked best?"

"I'll tell you. It was a little picture of kittens, in and out of abasket. Mr. Dillwyn didn't care about it; but I thought it was theprettiest thing there. Mrs. Burrage was there."

"Was she?"

"And Mr. Dillwyn does know more than ever anybody else in the world, Ithink. O, he was so nice, Lois! so nice and kind. I wouldn't have givena pin to be there, if it hadn't been for him. He wouldn't let me gettired; and he made everything amusing; and O, I could have sat theretill now and watched the people."

"The people! If the pictures were good, I don't see how you could haveeyes for the people."

"'The proper study of mankind is man,' my dear; and I like them alivebetter than painted. It was fun to see the dresses; and then the ways.How some people tried to be interested – "

"Like you?"

"What do you mean? I was interested; and some talked and flirted, andsome stared. I watched every new set that came in. Mr. DilIwyn says hewill come and take us to the Philarmonic, as soon as the performancesbegin."

"Madge, it is better for us to go with Mrs. Wishart."

"She may go too, if she likes."

"And it is better for us not to go with Mr. DilIwyn, more than we canhelp."

"I won't," said Madge. "I can't help going with him whenever he asksme, and I am not going any other time."

"What did Mrs. Burrage say to you?"

"Hm! – Not much. I caught her looking at me more than once. She saidshe would have a musical party next week, and we must come; and sheasked if you would be well enough."

"I hope I shall not."

"That's nonsense. Mr. Dillwyn wants us to go, I know."

"That is not a reason for going."

"I think it is. He is just as good as he can be, and I like him morethan anybody else I ever saw in my life. I'd like to see the thing he'dask me, that I wouldn't do."

"Madge, Madge!"

"Hush, Lois; that's nonsense."

"Madge you trouble me very much."

"And that's nonsense too."

Madge was beginning to get over the first sense of novelty andstrangeness in all about her; and, as she overcame that, a feeling ofdelight replaced it, and grew and grew. Madge was revelling inenjoyment. She went out with Mrs. Wishart, for drives in the Park andfor shopping expeditions in the city, and once or twice to make visits.She went out with Mr. Dillwyn, too, as we have seen, who took her todrive, and conducted her to galleries of pictures and museums ofcuriosities; and finally, and with Mrs. Wishart, to a Philharmonicrehearsal. Madge came home in a great state of exultation; though Loiswas almost indignant to find that the place and the people had rivalledthe performance in producing it. Lois herself was almost well enough togo, though delicate enough still to allow her the choice of staying athome. She was looking like herself again; yet a little paler in colourand more deliberate in action than her old wont; both the tokens of awant of strength which continued to be very manifest. One day Madgecame home from going with Mrs. Wishart to Dulles & Grant's. I mayremark that the evening at Mrs. Burrage's had not yet come off, owingto a great storm the night of the music party; but another was loomingup in the distance.

"Lois," Madge delivered herself as she was taking off her wrappings,"it is a great thing to be rich!"

"One needs to be sick to know how true that is," responded Lois. "Ifyou could guess what I would have given last summer and fall for a fewcrumbs of the comfort with which this house is stacked full – like hayin a barn!"

"But I am not thinking of comfort."

"I am. How I wanted everything for the sick people at Esterbrooke.Think of not being able to change their bed linen properly, noranything like properly!"

"Of course," said Madge, "poor people do not have plenty of things. But

I was not thinking of comfort, when I spoke."

"Comfort is the best thing."

"Don't you like pretty things?"

"Too well, I am afraid."

"You cannot like them too well. Pretty things were meant to be liked.What else were they made for? And of all pretty things – O, thosecarpets and rugs! Lois, I never saw or dreamed of anything somagnificent. I should like to be rich, for once!"

"To buy a Persian carpet?"

"Yes. That and other things. Why not?"

"Madge, don't you know this was what grandmother was afraid of, when wewere learning to know Mr. Dillwyn?"

"What?" said Madge defiantly.

"That we would be bewitched – or dazzled – and lose sight of betterthings; I think 'bewitched' is the word; all these beautiful things andthis luxurious comfort – it is bewitching; and so are the fine mannersand the cultivation and the delightful talk. I confess it. I feel it asmuch as you do; but this is just what dear grandmother wanted toprotect us from."

"What did she want to protect us from?" repeated Madge vehemently."Not Persian carpets, nor luxury; we are not likely to be tempted byeither of them in Shampuashuh."

"We might here."

"Be tempted? To what? I shall hardly be likely to go and buy afifteen-hundred-dollar carpet. And it was cheap at that, Lois! I canlive without it, besides. I haven't got so far that I can't stand onthe floor, without any carpet at all, if I must. You needn't think it."

"I do not think it. Only, do not be tempted to fancy, darling, thatthere is any way open to you to get such things; that is all."

"Any way open to me? You mean, I might marry a rich man some day?"

"You might think you might."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because, dear Madge, you will not be asked. I told you why. And if youwere, – Madge, you would not, you could not, marry a man that was nota Christian? Grandmother made me promise I never would."

"She did not make me promise it. Lois, don't be ridiculous. I don'twant to marry anybody at present; but I like Persian carpets, andnothing will make me say I don't. And I like silver and gold; andservants, and silk dresses, and ice-cream, and pictures, and bighouses, and big mirrors, and all the rest of it."

"You can find it all in the eighteenth chapter of Revelation, in thedescription of the city Babylon; which means the world."

"I thought Babylon was Rome."

"Read for yourself."

I think Madge did not read it for herself, however; and the days wenton after the accustomed fashion, till the one arrived which was fixedfor Mrs. Chauncey Burrage's second musical party. The three ladies wereall invited. Mrs. Wishart supposed they were all going; but when theday came Lois begged off. She did not feel like going, she said; itwould be far pleasanter to her if she could stay at home quietly; itwould be better for her. Mrs. Wishart demurred; the invitation had beenvery urgent; Mrs. Burrage would be disappointed; and, besides, she wasa little proud herself of her handsome young relations, and wanted theglory of producing them together. However, Lois was earnest in her wishto be left at home; quietly earnest, which is the more difficult todeal with; and, knowing her passionate love for music, Mrs. Wishartdecided that it must be her lingering weakness and languor whichindisposed her for going. Lois was indeed looking well again; but bothher friends had noticed that she was not come back to her old livelyenergy, whether of speaking or doing. Strength comes back so slowly, they said, after one of those fevers. Yet Madge was not satisfied withthis reasoning, and pondered, as she and Mrs. Wishart drove away, whatelse might be the cause of Lois's refusal to go with them.

Meanwhile Lois, having seen them off and heard the house door closeupon them, drew up her chair before the fire and sat down. She was inthe back drawing-room, the windows of which looked out to the river andthe opposite shore; but the shutters were closed and the curtainsdrawn, and only the interior view to be had now. So, or any way, Loisloved the place. It was large, roomy, old-fashioned, with none of thestiffness of new things about it; elegant, with the many tokens of homelife, and of a long habit of culture and comfort. In a big chimney abig wood fire was burning quietly; the room was softly warm; abrilliant lamp behind Lois banished even imaginary gloom, and a faintred shine came from the burning hickory logs. Only this lastillumination fell on Lois's face, and in it Lois's face showed graveand troubled. She was more like a sybil at this moment, looking intoconfused earthly things, than like one of Fra Angelico's angelsrejoicing in the clear light of heaven.

Lois pulled her chair nearer to the fire, and bent down, leaningtowards it; not for warmth, for she was not in the least cold; but forcompany, or for counsel. Who has not taken counsel of a fire? And Loiswas in perplexity of some sort, and trying to think hard and to examineinto herself. She half wished she had gone to the party at Mrs.Burrage's. And why had she not gone? She did not want, she did notthink it was best, to meet Mr. Dillwyn there. And why not, seeing thatshe met him constantly where she was? Well, that she could not help; this would be voluntary; put ting herself in his way, and in hissister's way. Better not, Lois said to herself. But why, better not? Itwould surely be a pleasant gathering at Mrs. Burrage's, a pleasantparty; her parties always were pleasant, Mrs. Wishart said; there wouldbe none but the best sort of people there, good talking and good music;Lois would have liked it. What if Mr. Dillwyn were there too? Must shekeep out of sight of him? Why should she keep out of sight of him? Loisput the question sharply to her conscience. And she found that theanswer, if given truly, would be that she fancied Mr. Dillwyn liked hersister's society better than her own. But what then? The blood began torush over Lois's cheeks and brow and to burn in her pulses. Then, itmust be that she herself liked his society – liked him – yes, a littletoo well; else what harm in his preferring Madge? O, could it be? Loishid her face in her hands for a while, greatly disturbed; she was verymuch afraid the case was even so.

But suppose it so; still, what of it? What did it signify, whom Mr.Dillwyn liked? to Lois he could never be anything. Only a pleasantacquain'tance. He and she were in two different lines of life, linesthat never cross. Her promise was passed to her grandmother; she couldnever marry a man who was not a Christian. Happily Mr. Dillwyn did notwant to marry her; no such question was coming up for decision. Thenwhat was it to her if he liked Madge? Something, because it was notliking that would end in anything; it was impossible a man in hisposition and circumstances should choose for a wife one in hers. If hecould make such a choice, it would be Madge's duty, as much as it wouldbe her own, to refuse him. Would Madge refuse? Lois believed not.Indeed, she thought no one could refuse him, that had not unconquerablereasons of conscience; and Madge, she knew, did not share those whichwere so strong in her own mind. Ought Madge to share them? Was itindeed an absolute command that justified and necessitated the promisemade to her grandmother? or was it a less stringent thing, that mightpossibly be passed over by one not so bound? Lois's mind was in aturmoil of thoughts most unusual, and most foreign to her nature andhabit; thoughts seemed to go round in a whirl. And in the midst of thewhirl there would come before her mind's eye, not now Tom Caruthers'face, but the vision of a pair of pleasant grey eyes at once keen andgentle; or of a close head of hair with a white hand roving amid thethick locks of it; or the outlines of a figure manly and lithe; or somelittle thing done with that ease of manner which was so winning.Sometimes she saw them as in Mrs. Wishart's drawing-room, and sometimesat the table in the dear old house in Shampuashuh, and sometimes underthe drip of an umbrella in a pouring rain, and sometimes in the oldschoolhouse. Manly and kind, and full of intelligence, filled withknowledge, well-bred, and noble; so Lois thought of him. Yet he was nota Christian, therefore no fit partner for Madge or for any one else whowas a Christian. Could that be the absolute fact? Must it be? Was suchthe inevitable and universal conclusion? On what did the logic of itrest? Some words in the Bible bore the brunt of it, she knew; Lois hadread them and talked them over with her grandmother; and now anirresistible desire took possession of her to read them again, and morecritically. She jumped up and ran up-stairs for her Bible.