oman in the world to turn from it."

"But the question you have just propounded reflects seriously upon
both the Church and me--"

"Bah!" interjected the Beaubien, her eyes flashing. "Wait," she
commanded imperiously, as he rose. "I have a few things to say to you,
since this is to be your last call."

"Madam, not the last, I hope. For I shall not cease to plead the cause
of the Church to you--"

"Surely, Monsignor, that is your business. You are welcome in my
house at any time, and particularly when you have such delightful
scraps of gossip as these which you have brought to-day. But, a word
before you go, lest you become indiscreet on your return. Play
Mrs. Hawley-Crowles to any extent you wish, but let her ward
alone--_absolutely_! She is not for you."

The cold, even tone in which the woman said this left no doubt in the
man's mind of her meaning. She was not trifling with him now, he knew.
In her low-voiced words he found no trace of banter, of sophistry, nor
of aught that he might in any wise misinterpret.

"Now, Monsignor, I have some influence in New York, as you may
possibly know. Will you admit that I can do much for or against you?
Drop your mask, therefore, and tell me frankly just what has induced
Mrs. Hawley-Crowles to unite with your Church."

The man knew he was pitting his own against a master mind. He
hesitated and weighed well his words before replying. "Madam," said he
at length, with a note of reproach, "you misjudge the lady, the
Church, and me, its humble servant. The latter require no defense. As
for Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, I speak truly when I say that doubtless she
has been greatly influenced by love for her late husband."

"What!" The Beaubien half rose from her chair. "Jim Crowles--that raw,
Irish boob, who was holding down a job on the police force until Ames
found he could make a convenient tool of him! The man who was
Gannette's cat's-paw in the Fall River franchise steal! Now,
Monsignor, would you have me believe you devoid of all sense?"

"But," ejaculated the man, now becoming exasperated, and for the
moment so losing his self-control as to make wretched use of his
facts, "she is erecting an altar in Holy Saints as a memorial to
him!"

"Heavens above!" The Beaubien sank back limp.

Monsignor Lafelle again made as if to rise. He felt that he was guilty
of a miserable _faux pas_. "Madam, I regret that I must be leaving.
But the hour--"

"Stay, Monsignor!" The Beaubien roused