ved to intermingle a little flattery
that Stafford recognized only to ignore. They had known one another well
in earlier days, and Kate was immensely pleased at finding her
playfellow both famous and not forgetful.

Eugene looked on from his seat at the foot of the table with silent
wonder. Here was a man who might and indeed ought to talk to Claudia,
and yet was devoting himself to Kate.

"I suppose it's on the same principle that he takes water instead of
champagne," he thought; but the situation amused him, and he darted at
Claudia a look that conveyed to that young lady the urgent idea that she
was, as boys say, "dared" to make Father Stafford talk to her. This was
quite enough. Helped by the unconscious alliance of Haddington, who
thought Miss Bernard had let him alone quite long enough, she seized her
opportunity, and said in the softest voice:

"Father Stafford?"

Stafford turned his head, and found fixed upon him a pair of large, dark
eyes, brimming over with mingled contrition and admiration.

"I am so sorry--but--but I thought you looked so ill."

Stafford was unpleasantly conscious of being human. The triumph of
wickedness is a spectacle from which we may well avert our eyes. Suffice
it to say that a quarter of an hour later Claudia returned Eugene's
glance with a look of triumph and scorn.

Meanwhile, trouble had arisen between the Bishop and Mr. Morewood.
Morewood was an artist of great ability, originality, and skill; and if
he had not attained the honors of the Academy, it was perhaps more of
his own fault than that of the exalted body in question, as he always
treated it with an ostentatious contumely. After all, the Academy must
be allowed its feelings. Moreover, his opinions on many subjects were
known to be extreme, and he was not chary of displaying them. He was
sitting on Mrs. Lane's left, opposite the Bishop, and the latter had
started with his hostess a discussion of the relation between religion
and art. All went harmoniously for a time; they agreed that religion had
ceased to inspire art, and that it was a very regrettable thing; and
there, one would have thought the subject--not being a new one--might
well have been left. Suddenly, however, Mr. Morewood broke in:

"Religion has ceased to inspire art because it has lost its own
inspiration, and having so ceased, it has lost its only use."

The Bishop was annoyed. A well-bred man himself, he disliked what seemed
to him ill-bred attacks