say," suggested my cousin, puffing at his pipe, "to taking
constancy as your text?"

Jack considered the idea for a moment, but then he shook his head.

"No. I think," he said reflectively, "that I shall preach on the power
of sympathy."

That sermon afforded me--I must confess it, at the risk of seeming
frivolous--very great entertainment. Again I secured a place by Miss
Trix--on her left, Newhaven being on her right, and her face was worth
study when Jack Ives gave us a most eloquent description of the
wonderful gift in question. It was, he said, the essence and the crown
of true womanliness, and it showed itself--well, to put it quite
plainly, it showed itself, according to Jack Ives, in exactly that sort
of manner and bearing which so honorably and gracefully distinguished
Mrs. Wentworth. The lady was not, of course, named, but she was
clearly indicated. "Your gift, your precious gift," cried the curate,
apostrophizing the impersonation of sympathy, "is given to you, not for
your profit, but for mine. It is yours, but it is a trust to be used
for me. It is yours, in fact, to share with me." At this climax,
which must have struck upon her ear with a certain familiarity, Miss
Trix Queenborough, notwithstanding the place and occasion, tossed her
pretty head and whispered to me, "What horrid stuff!"

In the ensuing week Jack Ives was our constant companion; the continued
illness of his servant's mother left him stranded, and Dora's kind
heart at once offered him the hospitality of her roof. For my part I
was glad, for the little drama which now began was not without its
interest. It was a pleasant change to see Jack genially polite to Trix
Queenborough, but quite indifferent to her presence or absence, and
content to allow her to take Newhaven for her partner at tennis as
often as she pleased. He himself was often an absentee from our games.
Mrs. Wentworth did not play, and Jack would sit under the trees with
her, or take her out in the canoe. What Trix thought I did not know,
but it is a fact that she treated poor Newhaven like dirt beneath her
feet, and that Lady Queenborough's face began to lose its transiently
pleasant expression. I had a vague idea that a retribution was working
itself out, and disposed myself to see the process with all the
complacency induced by the spectacle of others receiving punishment for
their sins.

A little scene which occurred after lunch one day was significant. I
wa