y virtue of his position in the public eye, partly
by reason of something in his make-up which led him to clamour forth
his intellectual hardships to any sympathetic ear that offered; by that
same token, Brenton seemed to the girl to be the more in need of calm
protection. Reed, shut away from all the clamour, was powerless to
defend himself. Brenton, timing his steps to the rhythm of the chorus,
even giving an occasional metronomic signal to that chorus, was equally
powerless to suppress it. The fact that the lack of power was in
himself, not in circumstance: this only made it the more piteous. And
Olive, listening, did pity Brenton, pity him increasingly, albeit with
the pity which is not at all akin to love. It was not his own fault
entirely that his virile strength was crossed by the wavering, widening
line of weakness that kept him from shutting his teeth upon the results
of his spiritual manoeuvres; not his own fault that his analytic logic
was a long way sounder than his common sense.

"Two lumps, Mr. Ross?" Olive queried, over the second cup of tea. She
knew quite well that the question would stamp her once and for all as a
careless hostess. Nevertheless, she asked it, as her only means of
deflecting the talk from Brenton.

The curate gave a soft and patient sigh.

"No sugar, Miss Keltridge," he corrected her gently; "and, if you don't
mind, please not quite so much lemon. There!" He lifted his hand
appealingly.

But Olive, smiling brightly back at him, gave the uncut half of lemon
another squeeze in her strong and supple fingers.

"Oh, but you will learn to like it in time, Mr. Ross. Then you will
wonder how you even tolerated it in any other way."

"I dare say," the curate murmured meekly, as he took the cup.

"Indeed, I know," Olive assured him easily. "When I was young, I used
to take it with all sorts of cream in it; but now--" She shook her
head. Then she added suavely, "You are sure it is quite all right, Mr.
Ross?"

The curate took a courteous taste. Then he strangled a little, not so
much, though, at the tea as at the coming falsehood.

"Oh, very!" he said politely, and then he took to stirring his tea with
suspicious fervour.

"How strange it always seems to have the town fill up again!" Olive
observed, still determined to keep the talk away from Brenton. "And
yet, we miss the girls, when they are gone."

"We miss them at the church," the curate answered with unexpected
energy. "They incr