ver spoken of to me. And now, Father Paul--now is the accepted
time!"

For a moment Verdayne was nonplussed. What could he reply? There was
only one love-story in his life, and that one would end only with his
own existence, but he could not tell that story to the Boy--yet!
Suddenly, however, an old, half-forgotten memory flashed across his
mind. Of course he had a love-story. He would tell the Boy the story of
Isabella Waring.

So, as they sat together over their coffee and cigarettes, Verdayne told
his young guest about the Curate's daughter, who had all unconsciously
wielded such an influence over the events of his past life. He told of
the girl's kindness to him when he had broken his collarbone; of her
assistance so freely offered to his mother; of her jolly, lively
spirits, her amiable disposition and general gay good-fellowship; and
then of the unlucky kiss that had aroused the suspicion and august
displeasure of Lady Henrietta, and had sent her erring son a wanderer
over the face of Europe--to forget!

He painted his sadness at leaving home--and Isabella--in pathetic
colors. Indeed, he became quite affecting when he pictured his parting
with Isabella, and when in repeating his parting words, he managed to
get just the right suspicion of a tremble into his voice, he really felt
quite proud of his ability as a story-teller.

The Boy was plainly touched.

"What foolishness to think that such a love as yours could be cured
merely by sending you abroad!" he said.

"Just what I thought, Boy--utter folly!"

"Of course it didn't cure you, Father Paul. You didn't learn to forget,
did you? Oh, it was cruel to send you away when you loved her like
that! I didn't think it of Aunt Henrietta--I didn't indeed!"

"Oh, you mustn't blame mother, Boy. She meant it for the best, just as
your Uncle Peter now means it for the best for you and yours. She
thought I would forget."

"Was she very, very beautiful, Father Paul? But of course she was, if
_you_ loved her!"

"She was pretty, Boy--at least I thought so."

"Big or little?"

"Tall--very tall."

"I like tall, magnificent women. There's something majestic about them.
I hope the Princess Elodie"--and the Boy made a wry face--"will be
quite six foot tall. I could never love a woman small either in body or
mind. I am sure I should have liked your Isabella, Father Paul. Majestic
women of majestic minds for me, for there you have the royal stamp of
nature that makes s