ne smiled complacently.

"And you mean Kate doesn't? I'm glad I'm not engaged to you, Mr. Lane,
if that's the kind of thing you say."

Eugene opened his mouth, shut it again, and then said blandly:

"So am I."

"Thank you! You need not be afraid."

"If I were engaged to you, I mightn't like you so well."

A slight blush became visible on Claudia's usually pale cheek.

Eugene looked away toward the horizon.

"I like the way quite pale people blush," he said.

"What do you want, Mr. Lane?"

"Ah! I see you appreciate my character. I want many things I can't
have--a great many."

"No doubt," said Claudia, still blushing under the mournful gaze which
accompanied those words. "Do you want anything you can have?"

"Yes! I want you to stay several more weeks."

"I'm going to stay." said Claudia.

"How kind!" exclaimed Eugene.

"Do you know why?"

"My modesty forbids me to think."

"I want, to see a lot of Father Stafford! Good-by, Mr. Lane. I'll leave
you to your private and particular understanding of Tennyson."

"Claudia!"

"Hold your tongue," she whispered, in tones of exasperation. "It's very
wicked and very impertinent--and the library door's open, and Kate's in
there!"

Eugene fell back in his chair with a horrified look, and Claudia rushed
into the house.

CHAPTER II.

New Faces and Old Feuds.

There was, no doubt, some excuse for the interest that the ladies at
Millstead Manor had betrayed on hearing the name of Father Stafford. In
these days, when the discussion of theological topics has emerged from
the study into the street, there to jostle persons engaged in their
lawful business, a man who makes for himself a position as a prominent
champion of any view becomes, to a considerable extent, a public
character; and Charles Stafford's career had excited much notice.
Although still a young man but little past thirty, he was adored by a
powerful body of followers, and received the even greater compliment of
hearty detestation from all, both within and without the Church, to whom
his views seemed dangerous and pernicious. He had administered a large
parish with distinction; he had written a treatise of profound patristic
learning and uncompromising sacerdotal pretensions. He had defended the
institution of a celibate priesthood, and was known to have treated the
Reformation with even less respect than it has been of late accustomed
to receive. He had done more than all this: he had im