a burning topic of the day, the
results of Church Missions in Africa. The great man laughed, shrugged
his shoulders, and ran lightly through a string of stories in which both
missionaries and converts played parts which were either grotesque or
worse. Madame de Netteville thought the stories amusing, and as one
ceased she provoked another, her black eyes full of a dry laughter, her
white hand lazily plying her great ostrich fan.

Suddenly a figure rose behind them.

'Oh, Mrs. Elsmere!' said Madame de Netteville, starting, and then coolly
recovering herself, 'I had no idea you were there all alone. I am afraid
our conversation has been disagreeable to you. I am afraid you are a
friend of missions!'

And her glance, turning from Catherine to her companion, made a little
malicious signal to him which only he detected, as though bidding him
take note of a curiosity.

'Yes, I care for them, I wish for their success,' said Catherine, one
hand, which trembled slightly, resting on the table beside her, her
great gray eyes fixed on Madame de Netteville. 'No Christian has any
right to do otherwise.'

Poor brave goaded soul! She had a vague idea of 'bearing testimony' as
her father would have borne it in like circumstances. But she turned
very pale. Even to her the word 'Christian' sounded like a bombshell in
that room. The great traveller looked up astounded. He saw a tall woman
in white with a beautiful head, a delicate face, a something
indescribably noble and unusual in her whole look and attitude. She
looked like a Quaker prophetess--like Dinah Morris in society--like--but
his comparisons failed him. How did such a being come _there_? He was
amazed; but he was a man of taste, and Madame de Netteville caught a
certain aesthetic approbation in his look.

She rose, her expression hard and bright as usual.

'May one Christian pronounce for all?' she said with a scornful
affectation of meekness. 'Mrs. Elsmere, please find some chair more
comfortable than that ottoman; and Mr. Ansdale, will you come and be
introduced to Lady Aubrey?'

After her guests had gone Madame de Netteville came back to the fire
flushed and frowning. It seemed to her that in that strange little
encounter she had suffered, and she never forgot or forgave the smallest
social discomfiture.

'Can I put up with that again?' she asked herself with a contemptuous
hardening of the lip. 'I suppose I must if _he_ cannot be got without
her. But I have an i