was a Gallic with a leaning to the Anglican Church,
had sometimes guessed with discomfort that Eugenie was in truth what
his Low Church wife called a 'free-thinker.' She never spoke of her
opinions, directly, even to him. But the books she ordered from Paris,
or Germany, and every now and then the things she let fall about them,
were enough for any shrewd observer. It was here too, perhaps, that
she and Arthur were in closest sympathy; and every one knew that
Arthur, poor old boy, was an agnostic.

And yet this daily pilgrimage--and that light and sweetness it
breathed into her aspect!--

So one day he had asked her abruptly why she liked the little church
so much, and its sacramental 'goings-on.'

'One wouldn't expect it, you know, darling--from the things you
read.'

Eugenie had coloured faintly.

'Wouldn't you, papa? It seems to me so simple. It's an _Action_--not
words--and an action means anything you like to put into it--one thing
to me--another to you. Some day we shall all be tired, shan't we?--of
creeds, and sermons, but never of "This _do,_ in remembrance of Me!'"

And she had put up her hand to caress his, with such a timid sweetness
of lip, and such a shining of the eye, that he had been silenced,
feeling himself indeed in the presence of something he was not
particularly well fitted to explore.

Well, if she was inconsequent, she was dear!--and if her mystical
fancies comforted and sustained her, nobody should ever annoy or check
her in the pursuit of them. He put a very summary stop to his wife's
'Protestant nonsense,' whenever it threatened to worry Eugenie; though
on other occasions it amused him.

* * * * *

The landlady in Bernard Street greeted them with particular effusion.
If they had only known, they represented to her--cautious yet not
unkindly soul!--the main security for those very long arrears of rent
she had allowed her lodger to run up. Were they now come--at this
unusual hour--to settle up with Mr. Fenwick? If so, her own settling
up--sweet prospect!--might be in sight. Cuningham and Watson had
recently left her, and taken a joint studio in Chelsea. Their rooms,
moreover, were still unlet. Her anxieties therefore were many, and it
was with lively expectation that she watched the 'swells' grope their
way upstairs to Mr. Fenwick's room. She always knew it must come right
some day, with people like that about.

Lord Findon and Eugenie mounted the stai