from that
trifling elevation of his countenance called by courtesy a nose, when
his blissful reverie was suddenly broken in upon by the sound of several
footsteps crunching slowly along the garden path, and, starting up from
his chair, he perceived four individuals clad in white flannel costumes
and wearing light straw hats trimmed with fluttering blue ribbons, who
were leisurely sauntering up to his door, and stopping occasionally to
admire the flowers on their way. Mr. Dyceworthy's face reddened visibly
with excitement.

"The gentlemen from the yacht," he murmured to himself, hastily settling
his collar and cravat, and pushing up his cherubic wings of hair more
prominently behind his ears. "I never thought they would come. Dear me!
Sir Philip Errington himself, too! I must have refreshments instantly."

And he hurried from the room, calling his orders to Ulrika as he went,
and before the visitors had time to ring, he had thrown open the door to
them himself, and stood smiling urbanely on the threshold, welcoming
them with enthusiasm,--and assuring Sir Philip especially how much
honored he felt, by his thus visiting, familiarly and unannounced, his
humble dwelling. Errington waved his many compliments good-humoredly
aside, and allowed himself and his friends to be marshalled into the
best parlor, the drawing-room of the house, a pretty little apartment
whose window looked out upon a tangled yet graceful wilderness of
flowers.

"Nice, cosy place this," remarked Lorimer, as he seated himself
negligently on the arm of the sofa. "You must be pretty comfortable
here?"

Their perspiring and affable host rubbed his soft white hands together
gently.

"I thank Heaven it suits my simple needs," he answered meekly. "Luxuries
do not become a poor servant of God."

"Ah, then you are different to many others who profess to serve the same
Master," said Duprez with a _sourire fin_ that had the devil's own
mockery in it. "_Monsieur le bon Dieu_ is very impartial! Some serve Him
by constant over-feeding, others by constant over-starving; it is all
one to Him apparently! How do you know which among His servants He likes
best, the fat or the lean?"

Sandy Macfarlane, though slightly a bigot for his own form of doctrine,
broke into a low chuckle of irrepressible laughter at Duprez's levity,
but Mr. Dyceworthy's flabby face betokened the utmost horror.

"Sir," he said gravely, "there are subjects concerning which it is not
seeml