an essential weapon in contesting the claims of
sin-born disease. Indeed, he confessed to himself that, had Katharine
only been a shade more self-distrustful, she would not have been a bad
looking woman. It was very plain, however, that even the salary of the
rector of Saint Peter's would not hold out long before the demands made
upon it by the rector's lady's wardrobe. Moreover, it was a little bit
surprising to find the country daisy expanded to the limits of a prize
sunflower such as this.

"You must remember me, Mr. Opdyke," she was saying effusively. "Such an
old, old acquaintance, you know! It must be at least seven or eight
years, since I first knew you. I was only little Katharine Harrison
then; I remember perfectly how shy and gauche I was, and how terrified
at you. Shall I sit here? Thank you. And you were very nice to me. I
often tell Scott how much it meant to me. Really, it was my first
introduction to the big, big world."

Opdyke rallied swiftly to this unlooked-for demand upon his social
instincts.

"No one ever would have suspected it from seeing you, Mrs. Brenton," he
assured her, with manful falsity.

She crackled her starch at him, with a buoyant pleasure in his words.

"You have all your old ingratiating tricks of speech," she told him.
"Really, nowadays, you ought to be steadying down a little, Mr.
Opdyke."

"And thinking on my latter end?" he queried, although he flushed a
little at her words. "It's not profitable to meditate upon a blank
monotony, you know."

Swiftly she bent forward, resting her elbow on her white linen knee,
her chin on her white silk palm.

"But why let it be monotonous?" she demanded.

Reed made a wry face, ostensibly at his own situation, actually at the
brutally frank question from what was, in fact, a total stranger.

"I really don't see how I well can help it, Mrs. Brenton," he said
quietly.

Lifting her chin from her palm, she clasped her gloves in her lap, and
looked down at her host with manifest encouragement.

"Only by lifting yourself above it, Mr. Opdyke," she enlightened him.

Reed smiled grimly.

"I'm very heavy; it would take too large a derrick," he replied. "How
is Brenton, to-day?"

"Quite as usual, thank you. Of course, we both are so busy that I see
comparatively little of him," Katharine said serenely.

Reed caught at the digression.

"Of course. I suppose the youngster keeps you very busy, Mrs. Brenton."

"Oh, it isn't the baby. I