above.

"Canon--er--Wealthy, Miss Wealthy, and--er--the--h'm--Rev. Mr. Storm!"

The buzz of voices abated, and a bright-faced little woman, showily
dressed, came forward and welcomed them with a marked accent. There were
several other ladies in the room, but only one gentleman. This person,
who was standing, with teacup and saucer in hand, at the farther side,
screwed an eyeglass in his eye, looked across at John Storm, and then
said something to the lady in the chair beside him. The lady tittered a
little. John Storm looked back at the man, as if by an instinctive
certainty that he must know him when he saw him again. He was engulfed in
a high, stiff collar, and was rather ugly; tall, slender, a little past
thirty; fair, with soft, sleepy eyes, and no life in his expression, but
agreeable; fit for good society, with the stamp of good breeding, and
capable of saying little humorous things in a thin "roofy" voice.

"I was real sorry I didn't hear Mr. Storm Wednesday evening," Mrs. Macrae
was saying, with a mincing smile. "My daughter told me it was just too
lovely.--Mercy, this is your great preacher. Persuade him to come to my
'At Home' Tuesday."

A tall, dark girl, with gentle manners and a beautiful face, came slowly
forward, put her hand into John's, and looked steadily into his eyes
without speaking. Then the gentleman with the eyeglass said suavely,
"Have you been long in London, Mr. Storm?"

"Two weeks," John answered shortly, and half turned his head.

"How--er--interesting!" with a prolonged drawl and a little cold titter.

"Oh, Lord Robert Ure--Mr. Storm," said the hostess.

"Mr. Storm has done me the honour to become one of my assistant clergy,
Lord Robert," said the canon, "but he is not likely to be a curate long."

"That is charming," said Lord Robert. "It is always a relief to hear that
I am likely to have one candidate the less for my poor perpetual curacy
in Pimlico. They're at me like flies round a honey-pot, don't you know. I
thought I had made the acquaintance of all the perpetual curates in
Christendom. And what a sweet team they are, to be sure! The last of them
came yesterday. I was out, and my friend Drake--Drake of the Home Office,
you know--couldn't give the man the living, so he gave him sixpence
instead, and the creature went away quite satisfied."

Everybody seemed to laugh except John, who only stared into the air, and
the loudest laughter came from the canon. But suddenly an incisi