eally when it comes to making a promise in my name--"

"Not a promise."

"May I ask you if you seriously propose to familiarise Axcester with
all the orgies of a Continental Sabbath? Already the prisoners spend
Sunday in playing chess, draughts, cards, dominoes; practices which I
connive at, only insisting that they are kept out of sight, but from
which I endeavour to wean them--those at least who have a taste for
music--by encouraging them to, take part in our Church services."

"But I have heard you regret, dear, that only the least respectable
fall in with this. The rest, being strict Roman Catholics, think it
wrong."

"Are you quite sure last night did, not over-tire you? You are
certainly disposed to be argumentative this morning."

"I think," suggested Narcissus, buttering his toast carefully, "you
might at least hear what Dorothea has to say."

"Oh, certainly! Indeed, if she has been committing me to her projects,
I have a right to know the worst."

"I haven't committed you--I only said I would ask your advice," poor
Dorothea stammered. "And I have no project." She caught Narcissus' eye,
and went on a little more firmly: "Only I thought, perhaps, that if
you extended their walks a little on Sundays--they are scrupulous in
keeping their _parole_. And, once in a way, we might entertain them at
Bayfield--late in the afternoon, when you have finished your Sunday
nap. Narcissus might show them the pavement and tell them about
Vespasian--not a regular lecture, it being Sunday, but an informal
talk, with tea afterwards. And in the evening, perhaps, they might
meet in the Orange Room for some sacred music--it need not be called
a 'concert'--" Dorothea stopped short, amazed at her own inventiveness.

"H'm. I envy your simplicity, my dear soul, in believing that the--
ah--alleged _ennui_ of these men can he cured by a talk about
Vespasian. But when you go on to talk of sacred music, I must be
permitted to remind you that a concert is none the less a concert for
being called by another name. We Britons do not usually allow names to
disguise facts. A concert--call it even a 'sacred' concert--in the
Orange Room, amid those distinctly--ah--pagan adornments! I can
scarcely even term it the thin end of the wedge, so clearly can I see
it paving the way for other questionable indulgences. I don't doubt
your good intentions, Dorothea, but you cannot, as a woman, be expected
to understand how easily the best intentions may