distraction."

"Ye ken mair than's in the catecheesm," remarked Salemina, yawning a
little as she put away her darning-ball. "It is pathetic to see you
waste your time painting mediocre pictures, when as a lecturer upon
love you could instruct your thousands."

"The thousands would never satisfy me," I retorted, "so long as you
remained uninstructed, for in your single person you would so swell
the sum of human ignorance on that subject that my teaching would be
forever vain."

"Very clever indeed! Well, what will Mr. Monroe say to me when I land
in New York without his daughter, or with his son-in-law?"

"He has never denied Francesca anything in her life; why should he
draw the line at a Scotsman? I am much more concerned about Mr.
Macdonald's congregation."

"I am not anxious about that," said Salemina loyally. "Francesca would
be the life of an Inchcaldy parish."

"I dare say," I observed, "but she might be the death of the pastor."

"I am ashamed of you, Penelope; or I should be if you meant what you
say. She can make the people love her if she tries; when did she ever
fail at that? But with Mr. Macdonald's talent, to say nothing of his
family connections, he is sure to get a church in Edinburgh in a few
years, if he wishes. Undoubtedly, it would not be a great match in a
money sense. I suppose he has a manse and three or four hundred pounds
a year."

"That sum would do nicely for cabs."

"Penelope, you are flippant!"

"I don't mean it, dear; it's only for fun; and it would be so absurd
if we should leave Francesca over here as the presiding genius of an
Inchcaldy parsonage,--I mean a manse!"

"It isn't as if she were penniless," continued Salemina; "she has
fortune enough to assure her own independence, and not enough to
threaten his,--the ideal amount. I hardly think the good Lord's first
intention was to make her a minister's wife, but he knows very well
that Love is a master architect. Francesca is full of beautiful
possibilities if Mr. Macdonald is the man to bring them out, and I am
inclined to think he is."

"He has brought out impishness so far," I objected.

"The impishness is transitory," she returned, "and I am speaking of
permanent qualities. His is the stronger and more serious nature,
Francesca's the sweeter and more flexible. He will be the oak-tree,
and she will be the sunshine playing in the branches."

"Salemina, dear," I said penitently, kissing her gray hair, "I
apologize: yo