tily; then his face grew rueful with a sudden
recollection. "I suppose you have come to scold me for not answering the
invitation to speak at the distribution of prizes to your religion
class?" he said; "but I _have_ been so busy. My conscience has kept up a
dull pricking on the subject, though, for ever so many weeks. You're
such an epitome of all the virtues that you can't understand the
sensation, and even I can't understand why one submits to this
undercurrent of reproach rather than take the simple step it exhorts one
to. But I suppose it's human nature." He puffed at his pipe in humorous
sadness.

"I suppose it is," said Strelitski wearily.

"But of course I'll come. You know that, my dear fellow. When my
conscience was noisy, the _advocatus diaboli_ used to silence it by
saying, 'Oh, Strelitski'll take it for granted.' You can never catch the
_advocatus diaboli_ asleep," concluded Raphael, laughing.

"No," assented Strelitski. But he did not laugh.

"Oh!" said Raphael, his laugh ceasing suddenly and his face growing
long. "Perhaps the prize-distribution is over?"

Strelitski's expression seemed so stern that for a second it really
occurred to Raphael that he might have missed the great event. But
before the words were well out of his mouth he remembered that it was an
event that made "copy," and little Sampson would have arranged with him
as to the reporting thereof.

"No; it's Sunday week. But I didn't come to talk about my religion class
at all," he said pettishly, while a shudder traversed his form. "I came
to ask if you know anything about Miss Ansell."

Raphael's heart stood still, then began to beat furiously. The sound of
her name always affected him incomprehensibly. He began to stammer, then
took his pipe out of his mouth and said more calmly;

"How should I know anything about Miss Ansell?"

"I thought you would," said Strelitski, without much disappointment in
his tone.

"Why?"

"Wasn't she your art-critic?"

"Who told you that?"

"Mrs. Henry Goldsmith."

"Oh!" said Raphael.

"I thought she might possibly be writing for you still, and so, as I was
passing, I thought I'd drop in and inquire. Hasn't anything been heard
of her? Where is she? Perhaps one could help her."

"I'm sorry, I really know nothing, nothing at all," said Raphael
gravely. "I wish I did. Is there any particular reason why you want to
know?"

As he spoke, a strange suspicion that was half an apprehension came int