lagues
of Egypt. But it was all inevitable from the day that meddling German
busybody invented printing--if not from the day his heathenish
precursor invented letters."

He delivered these sentiments with a good deal of warmth.

Susanna's eyes brightened. I am not sure there was n't a quick little
flash of raillery in their brightness.

"I would seem," she mused, "to have touched by accident upon a subject
that is near your heart."

Anthony threw up a deploring hand.

"There!" he grieved. "The subjects that are near my heart, it is the
study of my life to exclude from my conversation. But sometimes one
forgets oneself."

Susanna smiled,--a smile, perhaps, that implied a tacit memorandum and
reflection, a subdued, withheld, occult little smile. Again, I am not
sure it had n't its tinge of raillery.

"And since I _have_ forgotten myself," Anthony pursued, "I wonder
whether you will bear with me if I continue to do so twenty seconds
longer?"

"Oh, I beg of you," Susanna politely hastened to accede.

"There is another subject equally near my heart," said he.

Her eyes were full of expectancy.

"Yes--?" she encouraged him.

"I was disappointed not to find you at home when I called yesterday,"
said he. "I rejoice for a hundred reasons that chance has led to our
meeting this morning. Not to mention ninety-nine of them, I am anxious
to discharge, with as little loss of time as may be, the very onerous
debt I owe you."

Susanna opened her eyes, in puzzlement.

"A debt? I am your creditor unawares."

"My debt of apologies and condolences," he explained.

She knitted her brows, in mental effort.

"I am ignorant alike of my grievance and of your offence," she said.

"I am deeply sensible of your magnanimity," said he; "but I will not
abuse it. They have let you the ugliest house in the United Kingdom;
and, as the owner, the ultimate responsibility must come home to me."

"Oh," cried Susanna.

It was a gay, treble little cry, that told him he had been fortunate
enough to amuse as well as to surprise her. She shook her head, while
her eyes were liquid with mirth.

"The house is ugly?" she enquired. "I have read of it as 'a vast and
imposing edifice in the style of the Renaissance.'"

"As a confessor of the True Faith," Anthony warned her, "you must never
believe what you read in the _County History_. It was compiled by a
Protestant clergyman; it teems with misinformation; it ought to be
place