ke to paint her as a Puritan lady; the dress would exactly
suit her."

"She has a very sweet face," endorsed Amias, "and her manners are
remarkably pleasing. Yea-Verily fell in love with her because she
admired Babs. 'Love me, love my Babs,' don't you know!"

"Don't be a goose, Amias! He was as much pleased as I was, Mr. Herrick,
when Miss Templeton kissed Baby and made much of her; she said the
sweetest things to her, and Babs was so charmed that she actually put
up her face and kissed her of her own accord."

"The other Miss Templeton is a striking-looking woman of rather
uncommon type," observed Amias, blowing away a cloud of smoke rather
lazily. "She made herself very pleasant too, and said all sorts of
civil things."

"I thought her rather formidable at first," annotated Verity, "but I
soon discovered that she was interesting; she is very bright and
original, and we soon got on very nicely together."

"By the bye, Mr. Herrick, they want us all to dine at the Wood House
to-morrow; it is to be a comfortable, informal sort of meal. I told
Miss Templeton that I had no company manners, as I had lived all my
life in Bohemia; and then Miss Elizabeth laughed, and said she was
rather unconventional herself, and that she thought I should exactly
suit them."

"I told you so," responded Malcolm in a low voice. "I suppose there
will be no other guests?"

"Only the Carlyons," returned Verity. "Mr. Carlyon is the curate at
Rotherwood, Miss Templeton told us, and just now his father is staying
with him."

"Oh, Carlyon junior seems always on the premises," replied Malcolm
carelessly; "he is a sort of tame cat. Well, I am off to the Garden of
Eden now." But as he stood by his window the nodding roses turned their
pink cheeks to him in vain, and wasted their sweetness on the desert
air.

"He is always there," he muttered; "one is never free from him. Perhaps
it is her goodness of heart, she is so kind to every one, and he is her
clergyman. Of course it must be that." He frowned and sighed
impatiently; but as he turned away he saw the sprays of honeysuckle
that he had gathered the previous day lay on the window-sill forgotten
and neglected, with all the beautiful creamy blossoms withered and dead.

CHAPTER XXI

"IF I WERE ONLY LIKE YOU!"

Who, seeking for himself alone, ever entered heaven?
In blessing we are blest.
--C. SEYMOUR.

There is no separation--