ittle pale, and sat looking very grave. Then he
rose. "I don't know whether to say how welcome you would be at St.
Michael's to-morrow, for you may not be--"

"_We_ are Unitarians, too," said Mrs. March. "But we are coming to hear
_you_."

"I am glad you are coming _to church_," said Glendenning, putting away
the personal tribute implied with a gentle dignity that became him.

VII.

We waited a discreet time before returning the call of the Bentley
ladies, but not so long as to seem conscious. In fact, we had been
softened towards Mrs. Bentley by what Glendenning told us of her
suffering, and we were disposed to forgive a great deal of patronage and
superiority to her asthma; they were not part of the disease, but still
they were somehow to be considered with reference to it in her case.

We were admitted by the maid, who came running down the hall stairway,
with a preoccupied air, to the open door where we stood waiting. There
were two great syringa-bushes on each hand close to the portal, which
were in full flower, and which flung their sweetness through the doorway
and the windows; but when we found ourselves in the dim old-fashioned
parlor, we were aware of this odor meeting and mixing with another which
descended from the floor above--the smell of some medicated pastille.
There was a sound of anxious steps overhead, and a hurried closing of
doors, with the mechanical sound of labored breathing.

"We have come at a bad time," I suggested.

"Yes, _why_ did they let us in?" cried my wife in an anguish of
compassion and vexation. She repeated her question to Miss Bentley, who
came down almost immediately, looking pale, indeed, but steady, and
making a brave show of welcome.

"My mother would have wished it," she said, "and she sent me as soon as
she knew who it was. You mustn't be distressed," she entreated, with a
pathetic smile. "It's really a kind of relief to her; anything is that
takes her mind off herself for a moment. She will be so sorry to miss
you, and you must come again as soon as you can."

"Oh, we will, we will!" cried my wife, in nothing less than a passion of
meekness; and Miss Bentley went on to comfort her.

"It's dreadful, of course, but it isn't as bad as it sounds, and it
isn't nearly so bad as it looks. She is used to it, and there is a great
deal in that. Oh, _don't_ go!" she begged, at a movement Mrs. March made
to rise. "The doctor is with her just now, and I'm not needed. It will