ned to flash an appeal for sympathy toward
Orde.

"There, I feel more able to stay on earth!" she cried, springing to her
feet. "Now I'll get on my gloves and we'll start."

She turned slowly before the mirror, examining quite frankly the hang
of her skirt, the fit of her close-cut waist, the turn of the adorable
round, low-cut collars that were then the mode.

"It pays to be particular; we are in New York," she answered, or
parried, Orde's glance of admiration.

The gloves finally drawn on and buttoned, Orde held aside the portieres,
and she passed fairly under his uplifted hand. He wanted to drop his
arm about her, this slender girl with her quaint dignity, her bird-like
ways, her gentle, graceful, mysterious, feminine soul. The flame-red
bird lent its colour to her cheeks; her eyes, black and fathomless, the
pupils wide in this dim light, shone with two stars of delight.

But, as they moved toward the massive front doors, Mrs. Bishop came
down the stairs behind them. She, too, was dressed for the street. She
received Orde's greeting and congratulation over her improved health
in rather an absent manner. Indeed, as soon as she could hurry this
preliminary over, she plunged into what evidently she considered a more
important matter.

"You aren't thinking of going out, are you?" she asked Carroll.

"I told you, mother; don't you remember? Mr. Orde and I are going to get
a little air in the park."

"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Bishop, with great brevity and decision, "but
I'm going to the rectory to help Mr. Merritt, and I shall want you to go
too, to see about the silver."

"But, mother," expostulated Carroll, "wouldn't Marie do just as well?"

"You know very well she can't be trusted without direction."

"I DO so want to go to the park," said Carroll wistfully. Mrs. Bishop's
thin, nervous figure jerked spasmodically. "There is very little asked
of you from morning until night," she said, with some asperity, "and I
should think you'd have some slight consideration for the fact that I'm
just up from a sick bed to spare me all you could. Besides which, you
do very little for the church. I won't insist. Do exactly as you think
best."

Carroll threw a pathetic glance at Orde.

"How soon are you going?" she asked her mother.

"In about ten minutes," replied Mrs. Bishop; "as soon as I've seen
Honorine about the dinner." She seemed abruptly to realise that the
amenities demanded something of her. "I'm sorry we must