nswer but dropped into one of those thoughtful silences
which, while they did not seem to exclude, made it nevertheless appear
presumptuous to rouse him.

"Too much imagination," he repeated presently. "Is that possible?"
Then, after another long stare, "It's a very unusual face."

Mrs. Worden looked very happy. "We're going to take great care of
Elsie when we get her back. She had this long, delightful invitation
and we let her go because we thought she'd see more than she could in|
St. Marys, but she writes that it's even quieter."

"The old St. Marys is nearly at an end and your daughter will find food
for her imagination when she gets back. May I show this to Mr.
Belding?"

The young man took the photograph with a queer sense of participation
in something he did not understand. He saw a broad, low forehead,
masses of soft and slightly curly hair, eyes that looked beautifully
and wistfully, out from beneath finely arched brows and a mouth that
lacked nothing in humorous suggestion. Puzzling for an instant what it
was that had attracted his impersonal chief, he heard the latter saying
good night with customary abruptness.

"Come along, Belding; we've got a long day ahead of us. The directors
will be here to-morrow."

The judge was vastly interested. "So St. Marys is in actual touch with
Philadelphia?"

"Very much so, and in about two years St. Marys will loom very large in
Philadelphia. Good night and thank you."

The wind was stinging and they drove home rather silently. Arriving at
the big house, Clark went to the piano and played for a moment. The
music ceased as suddenly as it began and, warming himself at the great
stove in the hall, Belding heard a short laugh and an exclamation.
"Too much imagination," exploded Clark. The tone was one of utter
incredulity. At that the young man felt curiously truculent. Elsie
was only seventeen, while Clark was certainly not less than
thirty-five. Then the latter reappeared, rubbing his chilled fingers.

"The piano is too stiff with cold to talk. By the way, Worden was
talking about the bishop. What bishop?"

Belding told him what he knew. "He's an Irishman and a fine man. He
works this part of his diocese from St. Marys in the summer. One hears
all kinds of stories about him from the woods and the islands. He's
got a sense of humor and is a good sportsman, but I've only met him
once or twice. Just now he's over in England raising money to buy