ays,
meditatively, "and to preserve a properly dismal expression of
countenance! To look solemn always means to look severe, as far as I
can judge. And did you ever notice when a rather lively and secular set
of bars occur in the voluntary, how people cheer up and rouse
themselves, and give way to a little sigh or two? I hope it isn't a
sigh of relief. We feel it's wicked, but we always do it."

"Still studying poor human nature," exclaims Sir Penthony. "Miss
Massereene, I begin to think you a terrible person, and to tremble when
I meet your gaze."

"Well, at all events no one can accuse them of being High Church," says
Mrs. Darley, alluding to her pastors and masters for the time being.
"The service was wretchedly conducted; hardly any music, and not a
flower to speak of."

"My dear! High Church! How could you expect it? Only fancy that curate
intoning!" says Cecil, with a laugh.

"I couldn't," declares Sir Penthony; "so much exertion would kill me."

"That's why he _isn't_ High Church," says Mr. Potts of the curate,
speaking with a rather sweeping air of criticism. "He ain't musical; he
can't intone. Take my word for it, half the clergy are Anglicans merely
because they think they have voices, and feel what a loss the world
will sustain if it don't hear them."

"Oh, what a malicious remark!" says Molly, much disgusted.

Here the scene is further enlivened by the reappearance of Mr. Amherst
and the lawyer, which effectually ends the conversation and turns their
thoughts toward the dining-room.

CHAPTER XX.

"Trifles light as air."

--_Othello._

When luncheon is over, Sir Penthony Stafford retires to write a letter
or two, and half an hour afterward, returning to the drawing-room,
finds himself in the presence of Mr. Buscarlet, unsupported.

The little lawyer smiles benignly; Sir Penthony responds, and, throwing
himself into a lounging-chair, makes up his mind to be agreeable.

"Well, Mr. Buscarlet, and what did you think of the sermon?" he says,
briskly, being rather at a loss for a congenial topic. "Tedious, eh? I
saw you talking to Lady Elizabeth after service was over. She is a fine
woman, all things considered."

"She is indeed,--remarkably so: a very fine presence for her time of
life."

"Well, there certainly is not much to choose between her and the hills
in point of age," allows Sir Penthony, absently--he is inwardly
wondering where Cecil can have gone to,--"stil