ad somehow the effect of suggesting to Theron
that he was an outsider and would better mind his own business. Ah, if
this purring pussy-cat of a priest only knew how little of an outsider
he really was! The thought gave him an easy self-control.

"Of course," he said, "our warm mutual friendship makes the observation
of these little individual vagaries merely a part of a delightful whole.
I should not dream of discussing Miss Madden's confidences to me, or the
doctor's either, outside our own little group."

Father Forbes reached behind him and took from a chair his black
three-cornered cap with the tassel. "Unfortunately I have a sick call
waiting me," he said, gathering up his gown and slowly rising.

"Yes, I saw the man sitting in the hall," remarked Theron, getting to
his feet.

"I would ask you to go upstairs and wait," the priest went on, "but my
return, unhappily, is quite uncertain. Another evening I may be more
fortunate. I am leaving town tomorrow for some days, but when I get
back--"

The polite sentence did not complete itself. Father Forbes had come out
into the hall, giving a cool nod to the working-man, who rose from the
bench as they passed, and shook hands with his guest on the doorstep.

When the door had closed upon Mr. Ware, the priest turned to the man.
"You have come about those frames," he said. "If you will come upstairs,
I will show you the prints, and you can give me a notion of what can
be done with them. I rather fancy the idea of a triptych in carved old
English, if you can manage it."

After the workman had gone away, Father Forbes put on slippers and an
old loose soutane, lighted a cigar, and, pushing an easy-chair over to
the reading lamp, sat down with a book. Then something occurred to him,
and he touched the house-bell at his elbow.

"Maggie," he said gently, when the housekeeper appeared at the door, "I
will have the coffee and FINE CHAMPAGNE up here, if it is no trouble.
And--oh, Maggie--I was compelled this evening to turn the blameless
visit of the framemaker into a venial sin, and that involves a needless
wear and tear of conscience. I think that--hereafter--you understand?--I
am not invariably at home when the Rev. Mr. Ware does me the honor to
call."

CHAPTER XXVII

That night brought the first frost of the season worth counting. In
the morning, when Theron came downstairs, his casual glance through
the window caught a desolate picture of blackened dahlia stalk