aw her. Self-willed?--the turn of her graceful
head was slightly imperious. She could be tender with it all--he
inferred that from the confidence with which the child nestled against
her as the sermon began, and the gentle protecting hand that drew her
closer still.

Mark had been in and out of love several times in his life; his last
affair had been with a pretty, shallow flirt with a clever manner
picked up at secondhand, and though she had come to the end of her
_repertoire_ and ceased to amuse or interest him long before they
parted by mutual consent, he chose to believe his heart for ever
blighted and proof against all other women, so that he was naturally
in the most favourable condition for falling an easy victim.

He thought he had never seen any one quite like this girl, so
perfectly natural and unaffected, and yet with such an indefinable air
of distinction in her least movement. What poems, what books might not
be written, with such an influence to inspire them, and then Mark
recollected with a pang that he had done with all that for ever now.
That most delicate form of homage would be beyond his power, even if
he ever had the opportunity of paying it, and the thought did not tend
to reconcile him to his lot.

Would chance ever bring him within the sphere of his new-found
divinity? Most probably not. Life has so many of these tantalising
half-glimpses, which are never anything more. 'If she is Humpage's
daughter,' he thought, 'I'm afraid it's hopeless; but she shall not
pass out of my life if I can help it!' and so he dreamed through the
sermon, with the vicar's high cracked voice forming a gentle clacking
accompaniment, which he quite missed when the benediction came upon
him unexpectedly.

They came out of church into bright November sunshine; the sun had
disengaged itself now from the dun clouds, melted the haze, and
tempered the air almost to the warmth of early spring. Mark looked
round for Mr. Humpage and his party, but without success; they had
lingered behind, perhaps, as he could not help fearing, designedly. He
determined, however, to find out what he could about them, and
approached the subject diplomatically.

'I saw the window,' he began; 'that was the Good Samaritan in front,
of course. I recognised him by the likeness at once.'

'He took care it should be like,' said Uncle Solomon, with a
contemptuous sniff.

'That was his family with him, I suppose?' Mark asked carelessly.

''Umpage