l and feel glad, grateful--perhaps a bit wistful--if the
attribution of wistfulness, which implies regret, to a spirit in
Paradise doesn't savour of heresy----"

"I'm going to be cremated," interrupted Sir Archibald, twirling his
white moustache.

The Dean smiled and did not take up the cue. The talk died. It was a
drowsy day. The Dean went off into a little reverie. Perhaps his old
friend's reproach was just. Dean of a great cathedral at thirty-six,
he had the world of dioceses at his feet. Had he used to the full the
brilliant talents with which he started? He had been a good Dean, a
capable, business-like Dean. There was not a stone of the cathedral
that he did not know and cherish. Under his care the stability of
every part of the precious fabric had been assured for a hundred
years. Its financial position, desperate on his appointment, was now
sound. He had come into a scene of petty discords and jealousies; for
many years there had been a no more united chapter in any cathedral
close in England. As an administrator he had been a success. The
devotion of his life to the cathedral had its roots deep in spiritual
things. For the greater glory of God had the vast edifice been
erected, and for the greater glory of God had he, its guardian,
reverently seen to its preservation and perfect appointment. Would he
have served God better by pursuing the ambitions of youth? He could
have had his bishopric; but he knew that the choice lay between him
and Chanways, a flaming spirit, eager for power, who hadn't the sacred
charge of a cathedral, and he declined. And now Chanways was a force
in the Church and the country, and was making things hum. If he,
Conover, after fifteen years of Durdlebury, had accepted, he would
have lost the power to make things hum. He would have made a very
ordinary, painstaking bishop, and his successor at Durdlebury might
possibly have regarded that time-worn wonder of spiritual beauty
merely as a stepping-stone to higher sacerdotal things. Such a man, he
considered, having once come under the holy glamour of the cathedral,
would have been guilty of the Unforgivable Sin. He had therefore saved
two unfortunate situations.

"You are quite an intelligent man, Bruce," he said, with a sudden
whimsicality, "but I don't think you would ever understand."

The set of tennis being over, Peggy, flushed and triumphant, rushed
into the party in the shade.

"Mr. Petherbridge and I have won--six--three," she a