Father Stafford. Anthony Hope

A well-bred man himself, he disliked what seemed to him ill-bred attacks on opinions which his position proclaimed him to hold.

      "You cannot expect me to assent to either of your propositions, Mr. Morewood," he said. "If I believed them, you know, I should not be in the place I am."

      "They're true, for all that," retorted Morewood. "And what is it to be traced to?"

      "I'm sure I don't know," said poor Mrs. Lane.

      "Why, to Established Churches, of course. As long as fancies and imaginary beings are left free to each man to construct or destroy as he will—or again, I may say, as long as they are fluid—they subserve the pleasurableness of life. But when you take in hand and make a Church out of them, and all that, what can you expect?"

      "I think you must be confusing the Church with the Royal Academy," observed the Bishop, with some acidity.

      "There would be plenty of excuse for me, if I did," replied Morewood. "There's no truth and no zeal in either of them."

      "If you please, we will not discuss the truth. But as to the zeal, what do you say to the example of it among us now?" And the Bishop, lowering his voice, indicated Stafford.

      Morewood directed a glance at him.

      "He's mad!" he said briefly.

      "I wish there were a few more with the same mania about."

      "You don't believe all he does?"

      "Perhaps I can't see all he does," said the Bishop, with a touch of sadness.

      "How do you mean?"

      "I have been longer in the cave, and perhaps I have peered too much through cave-spectacles."

      Morewood looked at him for a moment.

      "I'm sorry if I've been rude, Bishop," he said more quietly, "but a man must say what he thinks."

      "Not at all times," said the Bishop; and he turned pointedly to Mrs. Lane and began to discuss indifferent matters.

      Morewood looked round with a discontented air. Miss Chambers was mortally angry with him and had turned to Bob Territon, whom she was trying to persuade to come to a bazaar at Bellminster on the Monday. Bob was recalcitrant, and here too the atmosphere became a little disturbed. The only people apparently content were Kate and Haddington and Lady Claudia and Stafford. To the rest it was a relief when Mrs. Lane gave the signal to rise.

      Matters improved, however, in the drawing-room. The Bishop and Stafford were soon deep in conversation; and Claudia, thus deprived of her former companion, condescended to be very gracious to Mr. Morewood, in the secret hope that that eccentric genius would make her the talk of the studios next summer by painting her portrait. Haddington and Bob had vanished with cigars; and Eugene looking round and seeing that all was peace, said to himself in an access of dutifulness. "Now for it!" and crossed over to where Kate sat, and invited her to accompany him into the garden.

      Kate acquiesced, but showed little other sign of relaxing her attitude of lofty displeasure. She left Eugene to begin.

      "I'm awfully sorry, Kate, if you were vexed this morning."

      Absolute silence.

      "But, you see, as host here, I couldn't very well turn out Lady Claudia."

      "Why don't you say Claudia?" asked Kate, in sarcastic tones.

      Eugene felt inclined to fly, but he recognized that his only chance lay in pretending innocence when he had it not.

      "Are we to quarrel about a trifle of that sort?" he asked; "a girl I've known like a sister for the last ten years!"

      Kate smiled bitterly.

      "Do you really suppose that deceives me? Of course I am not afraid of your falling in love with Claudia; but it's very bad taste to have anything at all like flirtation with her."

      "Quite right; it is. It shall not occur again. Isn't that enough?"

      Kate, in spite of her confidence, was not anxious to drive Eugene with too tight a rein, so, with a nearer approach to graciousness she allowed it to appear that it was enough.

      "Then come along," he said, passing his arm around her waist, and running her briskly along the terrace to a seat at the end, where he deposited her.

      "Really, Eugene, one would think you were a schoolboy. Suppose any one had seen us!"

      "Some one did," said Eugene composedly, lighting his cigar.

      "Who?"

      "Haddington. He was sitting on the step of the sun-dial, smoking."

      "How annoying! What's he doing there?"

      "If you ask me, I expect he's waiting on the chance of Lady Claudia coming out."

      "I should think it very unlikely," said Kate, with an impatient tap of her foot; "and I wish you wouldn't do such things."

      Eugene smiled; and having thus, as he conceived, partly avenged himself, devoted the next ten minutes to orthodox love-making, with the warmth of which Kate had no reason to be discontent. On the expiration of that time he pleaded his obligations as a host, and they returned to the house, Kate much mollified, Eugene with the peaceful but fatigued air that tells of duty done.

      Before going to bed, Stafford and Eugene managed to get a few words together. Leaving the other men, except the Bishop, who was already at rest, in the billiard-room, they strolled out together on to the terrace.

      "Well, old man, how are you getting on?" asked Eugene.

      "Capitally! stronger every day in body and happier in mind. I grumbled a great deal when I first broke down, but now I'm not sure a rest isn't good for me. You can stop and have a look where you are going to."

      "And you think you can stand it?"

      "Stand what, my dear fellow?"

      "Why, the life you lead—a life studiously emptied of everything that makes life pleasant."

      "Ah! you are like Lady Claudia!" said Stafford, smiling. "I can tell you, though, what I can hardly tell her. There are some men who can make no terms with the body. Does that sound very mediæval? I mean men who, unless they are to yield utterly to pleasure, must have no dealings with it."

      "You boycott pleasure for fear of being too fond of it?"

      "Yes; I don't lay down that rule for everybody. For me it is the right and only one."

      "You think it right for a good many people, though?"

      "Well, you know, the many-headed beast is strong."

      "For me?"

      "Wait till I get at you from the pulpit."

      "No; tell me now."

      "Honestly?"

      "Of course! I take that for granted."

      "Well, then, old fellow," said he, laying a hand on Eugene's arm, with a slight gesture of caress not unusual with him, "in candor and without unkindness, yes!"

      "I could never do it," said Eugene.

      "Perhaps not—or, at least, not yet."

      "Too late or too early, is it?"

      "It may be so, but I will not say so."

      "You know I think you're all wrong?"

      "I know."

      "You will fail."

      "God forbid! but if he pleases—"

      "After all, what are meat, wine, and—and so on for?"

      "That argument is beneath you, Eugene."

      "So it is. I beg your pardon. I might as well ask what the hangman is for if nobody is to be hanged. However, I'm determined that you shall enjoy