al point of view, when it became plain,
as it usually did, that the interest of the afternoon centred in Miss
Howe, whether or not the Archdeacon happened to be present. Their
displeasure was so clear, after the first occasion, that Hilda felt
obliged when the next one came, to fall back on her original talent, and
ate her ice abashed and silent speaking only when she was spoken to, and
then in short words and long hesitations. Thereupon the Sisters were of
opinion that after all poor Miss Howe could not help her unenviable lot,
she was perhaps more to be pitied on account of it than--anything else.
It came to this, that Sister Ann Frances even had an exhibitor's pride
in her, and Hilda knew the sensations of a barbarian female captive in
the bonds of the Christians. But she could not afford to risk being
cut off from those little garden teas. All told, they were few; ladies
disturbed by ideas of social duties toward missionaries being so
uncommon.

She told Stephen so, frankly, one afternoon when he charged her with
being so unlike herself, and he heard her explanation with a gravity
which contained an element of satisfaction. "It is, of course, a
pleasure to us to meet," he said, "a pleasure to us both." That was
part of the satisfaction, that he could meet her candour with the same
openness. He was not even afraid to mention to her the stimulus she gave
him always and his difficulty in defining it, and once he told her how,
after a talk with her, he had lain awake until the small hours unable
to stop his excited rush of thought. He added that he was now personally
and selfishly glad she had chosen as she did three months before; it
made a difference to him, her being in Calcutta, a sensible and material
difference. He had better hope and heart in his work. It was the last
luxury he would ever have dreamed of allowing himself, a woman friend;
but since life had brought it in the oddest way the boon should be met
with no grudging of gratitude. A kind of sedate cheerfulness crept into
his manner which was new to him; he went about his duties with the
look of a man to whom life had dictated its terms and who found them
acceptable. His blood might have received some mysterious chemical
complement, so much was his eye clearer, his voice firmer, and the
things he found to say more decisive. Nor did any consideration of their
relations disturb him. He never thought of the oxygen in the air he
breathed, and he seldom thought