mise with
baseness,--rivets that are a part of us and force us into flashes of
upright living, almost in spite of ourselves, when duty and inclination
grapple. There is always the thing one cannot do for the reason that one
is constituted as one is. That, I take it, is the real rivet in
grandfather's neck and everybody else's."

He spoke disjointedly, vaguely, but the girl nodded. "I think I
understand, Olaf. Only, it is a two-edged rivet--to mix metaphors--and
keeps us stiffnecked against all sorts of calls. No, I am not sure that
the thing one cannot do because one is what one is, proves to be always
a cause for international jubilations and fireworks on the lawn."

II

Thus Lichfield, as to its staid trousered citizenry, fell prostrate at
Miss Stapylton's feet, and as to the remainder of its adults,
vociferously failed to see anything in the least remarkable in her
appearance, and avidly took and compared notes as to her personal
apparel.

"You have brought Asmodeus into Lichfield," Colonel Musgrave one day
rebuked Miss Stapylton, as they sat in the garden. "The demon of pride
and dress is rampant everywhere--er--Patricia. Even Agatha does her hair
differently now; and in church last Sunday I counted no less than seven
duplicates of that blue hat of yours."

Miss Stapylton was moved to mirth. "Fancy your noticing a thing like
that!" said she. "I didn't know you were even aware I had a blue hat."

"I am no judge," he conceded, gravely, "of such fripperies. I don't
pretend to be. But, on the other hand, I must plead guilty to deriving
considerable harmless amusement from your efforts to dress as an example
and an irritant to all Lichfield."

"You wouldn't have me a dowd, Olaf?" said she, demurely. "I have to be
neat and tidy, you know. You wouldn't have me going about in a
continuous state of unbuttonedness and black bombazine like Mrs. Rabbet,
would you?"

Rudolph Musgrave debated as to this. "I dare say," he at last conceded,
cautiously, "that to the casual eye your appearance is somewhat
--er--more pleasing than that of our rector's wife. But, on the
other hand----"

"Olaf, I am embarrassed by such fulsome eulogy. Mrs. Rabbet isn't a day
under forty-nine. And you consider me _somewhat_ better-looking than she
is!"

He inspected her critically, and was confirmed in his opinion.

"Olaf"--coaxingly--"do you really think I am as ugly as that?"

"Pouf!" said the colonel airily; "I dare say you are