view of the painting,
and Erica, too, drew nearer, and looked at it for a minute in silence.

"Father took me up the Thames once," she said, by and by. "It was so
lovely. Some day, when all these persecutions are over, we are going
to have a beautiful tour, and see all sorts of places. But I don't know
when they will be over. As soon as one bigot--" she broke off suddenly,
with a stifled exclamation of dismay.

Charles Osmond, in the dim light, with his long gray beard, had not
betrayed his clerical dress; but, glancing round at him now, she saw at
once that the stranger to whom she had spoken so unreservedly was by no
means one of her father's followers.

"Well!" he said, smiling, half understanding her confusion.

"You are a clergyman!" she almost gasped.

"Yes, why not?"

"I beg your pardon, I never thought--you seemed so much too--"

"Too what?" urged Charles Osmond. Then, as she still hesitated, "Now,
you must really let me hear the end of that sentence, or I shall imagine
everything dreadful."

"Too nice," murmured Erica, wishing that she could sink through the
floor.

But the confession so tickled Charles Osmond that he laughed aloud, and
his laughter was so infectious that Erica, in spite of her confusion,
could not help joining in it. She had a very keen sense of the
ludicrous, and the position was undoubtedly a laughable one; still there
were certain appalling recollections of the past conversation which soon
made her serious again. She had talked of persecutions to one who was,
at any rate, on the side of persecutors; had alluded to bigots, and,
worst of all, had spoken in no measured terms of "tiresome Christians."

She turned, rather shyly, and yet with a touch of dignity, to her
visitor, and said:

"It was very careless of me not to notice more, but it was dark, and I
am not used to seeing any but our own people here. I am afraid I said
things which must have hurt you; I wish you had stopped me."

The beautiful color had spread and deepened in her cheeks, and there was
something indescribably sweet and considerate in her tone of apology.
Charles Osmond was touched by it.

"It is I who should apologize," he said. "I am not at all sure that I
was justified in sitting there quietly, knowing that you were under
a delusion; but it is always very delightful to me in this artificial
world to meet any one who talks quite naturally, and the interest of
hearing your view of the question kept me sile