s mouth.

"Then you go to church this morning?" I said, seeking to turn the
conversation as naturally as I could.

"Yes, I always do on Christmas morning," she replied, as if thankful I
had given her an opportunity of speaking about other matters.

"Then I hope I shall have the pleasure of escorting you," I replied.

Ordinarily I should not have dared to mention such a matter to a lady I
had seen so little of, but the request slipped out unthinkingly; and
she, no doubt confused by the presence of Voltaire, cheerfully assented.

Our embarrassment came to an end just then, for several others came into
the room, and the conversation became general.

As the reader may guess, I was highly elated at the turn matters were
taking, and in my heart I began to laugh at Voltaire's idea of winning
Gertrude Forrest. Moreover, she had willingly consented to walk to
church with me, and had expressed a dislike for the man I, in spite of
myself, was beginning to fear.

Only a very few of the party found their way to the old time-honoured
building to join in the Christmas service that morning. Some were tired
and remained in their rooms, while others enjoyed sitting around the
cheerful fires. I was not sorry, however, for I was thus enabled to
enjoy more of Miss Forrest's society. Need I say that my morning was
truly enjoyable? I think not. I found in my companion one who was in
every way delightful. Widely read, she was able to converse about books
she loved, and possessing a mind that was untrammelled by society
notions, it was refreshing to hear her talk. Far removed from the giddy
society girl, she was yet full of mirth and pleasantness. Ready witted,
she was quick at repartee; and possessing a keen sense of humour, she
saw enjoyment in that which to many would be commonplace.

Only one thing marred my happiness. That was the memory of a cruel look
which rested on Voltaire's face as we went away together. From that
moment I am sure he regarded me as his rival, and from that moment he
sought to measure his strength with mine. I could see in his face that
he had guessed my secret, while I fancied I could see, beneath his
somewhat cynical demeanour, indications of his love for Gertrude
Forrest.

On our way back from church we met Voltaire and Kaffar, who were eagerly
conversing. They took but little notice of us, however, and, for my own
part, I felt relieved when they were out of sight.

"Do you know what is on the programme