ssingly. "Perhaps it is. They say love is
a disturbing thing. But--does it usually make a man bang doors?"

"It often turns a sensible man into a fool." Miss Annabel's tone held
bitterness. "But what I can't discover is this! If Angus is in love,
whom is he in love with?" The question was delivered with such force
that Esther jumped.

"I'm sure I don't know!"

"Nor do I. And that is what I must find out. I have my suspicions. My
dear, don't let me startle you, but have you ever thought that it might
possibly be--your mother?"

"Gracious! So it might! I never thought of it."

"I have not been blind," went on Miss Annabel complacently. "I have
noticed how often he calls at the Elms and how long he stays. Also how
very considerate he is of Mrs. Coombe, how patient with Jane, how
indulgent with you--"

"Indulgent with me!" indignantly. "Why should he be 'indulgent' with
me?"

"Why, indeed," asked Miss Macnair pointedly, "unless on account of your
mother?"

Esther subdued a desire to laugh. Many little things, half-observed,
seemed to fit in with Miss Annabel's theory. Yet, somehow, instinct told
her that the theory was wrong.

"I don't believe it," she declared finally. "At first I thought it
possible but now I seem to know that we're on the wrong track. Mr.
Macnair is not in love with mother, and as for mother--Oh, the thing is
absurd! Aren't you awfully hungry, Miss Annabel?"

CHAPTER XVII

It was a curious luncheon party. The host was abstracted, nervous, far
from being his usual bland self. The guest was subdued, silent, uneasy
for no reason at all. The hostess, usually an ever-springing well of
comment and question, had decided upon quiet dignity as the most fitting
expression of sensibilities ignored by the banging of doors.

"I think, Angus," she ventured once, "that you ought to remonstrate with
Mr. McCandless in regard to 'If a man die.' An Easter Anthem is an
Easter Anthem, but after five renderings it is hardly fair to expect the
congregation to behave as if they had never heard it before."

"Quite so," said the minister absently.

"Then may I tell him myself that it is your special request--"

"Certainly not. I wish you would not interfere, Annabel. The choir does
very well. I think I have told you before that your continual desire for
something novel in music has not my sympathy. I am not sure that I
approve of this growing craze for anthems. They seem to me, sometimes,
wholly unconn