lien faith, but the Romanists, with all their mistakes,
are not unmusical."

"I see much good in Rome," said Mr. Smith solemnly, "although it is
mingled with many errors. No, not any nuts, thank you; I never touch
nuts. I should like to hear this anthem."

"I could play it to you with pleasure," Reggie said, drooping his fair
head slightly, "but of course it is all wrong on a piano. It requires
the organ and sweet boys' voices."

"We have anthems in the church here," said Mr. Smith. "We have even done
masses."

"How exquisite!" said Amarinth. "A village mass. There is something
beautifully original in the notion. Ah! Mr. Smith, if your boys could
have done Lord Reggie's anthem they would have learnt the doctrine of
music."

"Perhaps they--would it be possible--on Sunday?" Mr. Smith said, glowing
gently.

Amarinth got up, dropping his cigarette end into his finger bowl.

"Reggie, we have found a true artist in Chenecote," he said. "Play Mr.
Smith your purple notes, and I will go and take my coffee on the lawn.
The moon washes the night with silver, and, thank Heaven! there are no
nightingales to ruin the music of the stillness with their well-meant
but ill-produced voices. Nature's songster is the worst sort of songster
I know."

He walked with an ample softness into the little hall, and passed out
through the French windows of the drawing room into the shadowy garden.

On the lawn he found Lady Locke sitting alone, sipping her coffee in a
basket chair. Madame Valtesi and Mrs. Windsor had strolled into the
scented rose garden to discuss the inner details of a forthcoming
divorce case. The murmur of their voices, uttering names of
co-respondents, was faintly heard now and then as they passed up and
down the tiny formal paths.

Esme Amarinth sank down into a chair by Lady Locke and sighed heavily.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

"You have a beautiful soul," he said softly, "and I have a beautiful
soul too. Why should there not be a sympathy between us? Lady Locke, I
am the victim of depression. I am suffering from the malady of life. I
usually have an attack of it in the morning, but it flies when the stars
come out and leaves me brilliant. What can be the matter with me
to-night? I ask myself the question with the most poignant anxiety, I
can assure you."

She glanced at his large and solemn face, at his ample cheeks and loose
mouth, and smiled slightly.

"Some circumstances have been unkind to you,