ts
stability, was the strict tradition of Christianity, an inheritance of
peculiar influence with both the participants in the strange mistake.
There was no cause for divorce which either of their respective
churches recognised as valid; at least, so he believed, for he did not
doubt that Emmet had told him the whole truth in regard to Lena
Harpster, and he felt sure that he would now avoid the very appearance
of evil. He recognised also that he was the recipient of a confession
he must regard as sacred. Felicity must not know he shared her secret.
His part must be merely that of a spectator of a drama.

These were his thoughts as he wandered from place to place, trying to
convince himself that he had reached a point of renunciation; but as
often as her face rose up before him he wavered in his resolution, and
went back to the conviction that she really did not love the man who
was only technically her husband. Might not her treatment of himself
be capable of a more favourable interpretation than his first anger and
chagrin had put upon it? He felt that it would depend upon her, when
she returned, whether he could maintain a feigned indifference.

He purchased a pipe for Cardington, and ultimately found himself in a
large department store turning over the volumes on the book counter in
search of a gift for his father. Presently he heard a voice at his
elbow.

"Are you engaged in Christmas shopping too, Mr. Leigh?"

He turned and saw Mrs. Parr looking at him tentatively, her hands full
of bundles. A remembrance of his rudeness to her at Littleford's
caused him to welcome this opportunity to make amends. She was
Felicity's nearest friend, and perhaps she would mention her name.
Moreover, the fact that Emmet suspected her of having divined his
secret, and her meeting with him and Lena at the inn, gave her a new
interest in his eyes.

"Yes, Mrs. Parr," he returned. "I'm doing as well as a mere man can be
expected to do, which is n't very well. Perhaps you can come to my
assistance."

She placed her bundles on the counter with alacrity, and her thin,
gloved hand hovered over the rows of volumes.

"You must give me some hint as to the destination of the gift," she
declared, turning upon him with a sparrow-like motion of the head and a
significant smile.

"No," he said, laughing at her intimation, "it isn't what you suspect.
I want a book for an old-fashioned gentleman, past middle life. There
seems to be