why indeed?" returns he, bitterly.

At this inauspicious moment a small rough terrier of Luttrell's rushes
across their path, almost under their feet, bent on some mad chase
after a mocking squirrel; and Philip, maddened just then by doubts and
the coldness of her he loves, with the stick he carries strikes him a
quick and sudden blow; not heavy, perhaps, but so unexpected as to draw
from the pretty brute a sharp cry of pain.

Hearing a sound of distress from his favorite, Luttrell turns, and,
seeing him shrinking away from Molly's side, casts upon her a glance
full of the liveliest reproach, that reduces her very nearly to the
verge of tears. To be so misunderstood, and all through this tiresome
Philip, it is too bad! As, under the circumstances, she cannot well
indulge her grief, she does the next best thing, and gives way to
temper.

"Don't do that again," she says, with eyes that flash a little through
their forbidden tears.

"Why?" surprised in his turn at her vehemence; "it isn't your dog; it's
Luttrell's."

"No matter whose dog it is; don't do it again. I detest seeing a poor
brute hurt, and for no cause, but merely as a means to try and rid
yourself of some of your ill-temper."

"There is more ill-temper going than mine. I beg your pardon, however.
I had no idea you were a member of the Humane Society. You should study
the bearing-rein question, and vivisection, and--that," with a sullen
laugh.

"Nothing annoys me so much as wanton cruelty to dumb animals."

"There are other--perhaps mistakenly termed--superior animals on whom
even _you_ can inflict torture," he says, with a sneer. "All your
tenderness must be reserved for the lower creation. You talk of
brutality: what is there in all the earth so cruel as a woman? A
lover's pain is her joy."

"You are getting out of your depth,--I cannot follow you," says Molly,
coldly. "Why should you and I discuss such a subject as lovers? What
have we in common with them? And it is a pity, Philip, you should allow
your anger to get so much the better of you. When you look savage, as
you do now, you remind me of no one so much as grandpapa. And _do_
recollect what an odious old man he makes."

This finishes the conversation. He vouchsafes her no reply. To be
considered like Mr. Amherst, no matter in how far-off a degree, is a
bitter insult. In silence they continue their walk; in silence reach
the church and enter it.

It is a gloomy, antiquated building, prim