med abstracted. Probably he was thinking of
his anthem, whose tonic and dominant chords, and diatonic progressions,
he considered most subtly artistic. He would like to have written in the
Lydian mode, only he could not remember what the Lydian mode was, and he
had forgotten to bring any harmony book with him. He glanced into the
mirror over the fireplace, smoothed his pale gold hair with his hand,
and prepared to be very sweet to the curate in order to obtain
possession of the organ on the ensuing Sunday.

"Mr. Smith," said one of the tall footmen, throwing open the
drawing-room, and a tall, thin, ascetic looking man, with a shaved,
dark face, and an incipient tonsure, entered the room very seriously.

"Dinner is served."

The two announcements followed one upon the other almost without a
pause. Mrs. Windsor requested the curate to take her in, after
introducing him to her guests in the usual rather muddled and
perfunctory manner. When they were all seated, and Mr. Amarinth was
beginning to hold forth over the clear soup, she murmured confidentially
to her companion--

"So good of you to take pity upon us. You will not find us very gay. We
are really down here to have a quiet, serious week--a sort of retreat,
you know. Mr. Amarinth is holding it. I hope nobody will have a fit this
time. Ah! of course you did not come last year. Do you like Chenecote? A
sweet village, isn't it?"

"Very sweet indeed, outwardly. But I fear there is a good deal to be
done inwardly; much sweeping and scouring of minds before the savour of
the place will be quite acceptable on high."

"Dear me! I am sorry to hear that. One can never tell, of course."

"I have put a stop to a good deal already, I am thankful to say. I have
broken up the idle corners permanently, and checked the Sunday evening
rowdyism upon the common."

"Indeed! I am so glad. Mr. Smith has broken up the idle corners, Madame
Valtesi. Is it not a mercy?"

Madame Valtesi looked enigmatical, as indeed she always did when she was
ignorant. She had not the smallest idea what an idle corner might be,
nor how it could be broken up. She therefore peered through her
eyeglasses and said nothing. Mr. Amarinth was less discreet.

"An idle corner," he said. "What a delicious name. It might have been
invented by Izaac Walton. It suggests a picture by George Morland. I
love his canvases, rustics carousing----"

But before he could get any further, Reggie caught his eye and forme