hould he remind me of a camp-meeting funeral, I wonder?" mused
Canning, following behind--"or is it something I read in the book
of Job?"

The girl answered with a vague laugh. Mr. Canning's odd but evident
antagonism to the man she herself had such cause to dislike was
agreeable to her, but the topic was not. She had had enough of the
Vivians of this world for one night. She led the way through the dark
drawing-room, and at the switch beyond the door turned the light into
two soft-tinted dome-lamps. The library was massive rather than
"livable"; it had books, which is more than can be said for some
libraries; but they were chiefly books in stately sets, yards and yards
of them just alike: a depressing matter to the true lover. However, it
was at least solitude; solitude enveloped with an air of intimacy
vastly agreeable and compensatory. It did not seem so certain now that
the golden evening was ruined past hope....

"You and he seemed to be having a terribly earnest discussion," said
Canning. "Of course I did my best to eavesdrop, but Miss Allen was so
charming I caught only a word now and then."

"He was lecturing me about how my father ought to run his business. He
always does...."

She replenished the dying fire with a soft lump, and poked it
unskilfully, all but stabbing the life out of it. Canning, standing and
staring half-absently into the soft glow, did not offer to relieve her
of the poker. They knew each other very well by now.

"Only don't let's spoil our little party by talking about him," she went
on--"he rubs me the wrong way so. And do please take off that polar
overcoat. It positively makes me _shiver_...."

"Lecturing appears to be the fellow's specialty.... Well!"

He threw his overcoat, stick, and white gloves on the fire-settle,
turned and glanced down at her. After the long and broken evening, he
looked somewhat fatigued. Carlisle, already seated, was just beginning
to unbutton her left long glove.

"Fine hours, fine hours these, for even a play sick-man! Yet I linger
on...."

"You must stay," said she, "till the last person has gone from Mr.
Beirne's."

The mantel clock stood at twenty minutes past twelve. With a little
laugh she reached up and turned its small commemorative face to
the wall.

"Or," she added, becoming grave, "are you really quite tired out with
being with me?"

"I was hardly thinking that," said Canning.

He dropped into a chair and stared into the fire. Carlis