is
newspapers rustle to the floor, as he rose. Max came and sniffed about
Gifford's knees, and wagged his tail, hoping to be petted. Lois was the
only one whose greeting was constrained, and Gifford's gladness withered
under the indifference in her eyes.

"She doesn't care," he thought while he was answering Dr. Howe, and
rubbing Max's ears with his left hand. "Helen may be right about
Forsythe, but she doesn't care for me, either."

"Sit here, dear Giff," said Miss Ruth, motioning him to a chair at her
side.

"There's a draught there, dear Ruth," cried Miss Deborah anxiously. "Come
nearer the fire, Gifford." But Gifford only smiled good-naturedly, and
leaned his elbow on the mantel, grasping his coat collar with one hand,
and listening to Dr. Howe's questions about his niece.

"She's very well," he answered, "and the happiest woman I ever saw. Those
two people were made for each other, doctor."

"Well, now, see here, young man," said the rector, who could not help
patronizing Gifford, "you'll disturb that happiness if you get into
religious discussions with Helen. Women don't understand that sort of
thing; young women, I mean," he added, turning to Miss Deborah, and then
suddenly looking confused.

Gifford raised his eyebrows. "Oh, well, Helen will reason, you know; she
is not the woman to take a creed for granted."

"She must," the rector said, with a chuckle, "if she's a Presbyterian.
She'll get into deep water if she goes to discussing predestination and
original sin, and all that sort of thing."

"Oh," said Gifford lightly, "of course she does not discuss those things.
I don't think that sort of theological rubbish had to be swept out of her
mind before the really earnest questions of life presented themselves.
Helen is singularly free from the trammels of tradition--for a woman."

Lois looked up, with a little toss of her head, but Gifford did not even
notice her, nor realize how closely she was following his words.

"John Ward, though," Gifford went on, "is the most perfect Presbyterian
I can imagine. He is logical to the bitter end, which is unusual, I
fancy. I asked him his opinion concerning a certain man, a fellow named
Davis,--perhaps Helen wrote of his death--I asked Ward what he thought of
his chances for salvation; he acknowledged, sadly enough, that he thought
he was damned. He didn't use that word, I believe," the young man added,
smiling, "but it amounted to the same thing."

There was an