single competent gesture had taken away his book and switched off his
reading lamp, and he had, with the courage of darkness, voiced a certain
uneasiness.

"Who do you think it is, you mean."

"Very well, only the word is 'whom.'"

Mrs. Haverford ignored this.

"It's that Hayden girl," she said. "Toots. And Graham Spencer."

"Do you think that Delight--"

"She always has. For years."

Which was apparently quite clear to them both.

"If it had only been a nice girl," Mrs. Haverford protested,
plaintively. "But Toots! She's fast, I'm sure of it."

"My dear!"

"And that boy needs a decent girl, if anybody ever did. A shallow
mother, and a money-making father--all Toots Hay den wants is his money.
She's ages older than he is. I hear he is there every day and all of
Sundays."

The rector had precisely as much guile as a turtle dove, and long, after
Mrs. Haverford gave unmistakable evidences of slumber, he lay with his
arms above his head, and plotted. He had no conscience whatever about
it. He threw his scruples to the wind, and if it is possible to follow
the twists of a theological mind turned from the straight and narrow way
into the maze of conspiracy, his thoughts ran something like this:

"She is Delight. Therefore to see her is to love her. To see her
with any other girl is to see her infinite superiority and charm.
Therefore--"

Therefore, on the following Sunday afternoon, the totally unsuspecting
daughter of a good man gone wrong took a note from the rector to
the Hayden house, about something or other of no importance, and was
instructed to wait for an answer. And the rector, vastly uneasy and
rather pleased with himself, took refuge in the parish house and waited
ten eternities, or one hour by the clock.

Delight herself was totally unsuspicious. The rectory on a Sunday
afternoon was very quiet, and she was glad to get away. She drove over,
and being in no hurry she went by the Spencer house. She did that
now and then, making various excuses to herself, such as liking the
policeman at the corner or wanting to see the river from the end of the
street. But all she saw that day was Rodney Page going in, in a top hat
and very bright gloves.

"Precious!" said Delight to herself. Her bump of reverence was very
small.

But she felt a little thrill, as she always did, when she passed the
house. Since she could remember she had cared for Graham. She did not
actually know that she loved him. She told