and stirred the fire into
a blaze. At that moment Miss Winstead entered the room.

"Miss Winstead," said Ogilvie, "will you sit with Sibyl for a short
time? Mildred, I should like a word with you alone."

His voice was cheerful, but quite firm. He went up to Sibyl and kissed
her.

"I shall soon be back, my little love," he said, and she kissed him
and smiled, and watched both parents as they went out of the room.

"Isn't it wonderful," she said, turning to her governess, "how perfect
they both are! I don't know which is most perfect; only, of course I
can't help it, but I like father's way best."

"I should think you did," replied Miss Winstead. "Shall I go on
reading you the new fairy tale, Sibyl?"

"Not to-day, thank you, Miss Winstead," answered Sibyl.

"Then what shall I read?"

"I don't think anything, just now. Father has been reading the most
beautiful inciting things about a saint called John, who wrote a story
about the New Jerusalem. Did you ever read it?"

"You mean a story out of the Bible, from the Book of Revelation?"

"Perhaps so; I don't quite know what part of the Bible. Oh, it's most
wonderful inciting, and father reads so splendid. It's about what
happens to people when their wings are grown long. Did you never read
about it, Miss Winstead? The New Jerusalem _is_ so lovely, with
streets paved with gold, same as the gold in the gold mine, you know,
and gates all made of big pearls, each gate one big whole pearl. I
won't ask you to read about it, 'cos I like father's way of reading
best; but it's all most wonderful and beautiful."

The child lay with a smile on her face. She could see a little way
across the garden from where she lay.

Meanwhile Ogilvie and his wife had gone downstairs. When they reached
the wide central hall, he asked her to accompany him into a room
which was meant to be a library. It looked out toward the back of the
house, and was not quite in the same absolute order as the other
beautiful rooms were in. Ogilvie perhaps chose it for that reason.

The moment they had both got into the room he closed the door, and
turned and faced his wife.

"Now, Mildred," he said, "I wish to understand--God knows I am the
last person who ought to reproach you--but I must clearly understand
what this means."

"What it means?" she repeated. "Why do you speak in that tone? Oh,
it's very fine to say you do not mean to reproach me, but your eyes
and the tone of your voice reproach me.