lained.

"But--but I can't _possibly_ do anything."

" 'Can't possibly' is a phrase I have learned to misunderstand."

"Really, Mr Beveridge, I mustn't do anything."

"Mustn't is an invariable preface to a sin. Never use it; it's a
temptation in itself."

"It wouldn't be right," she said, with quite a show of firmness.

He looked at her a little curiously. For a moment he almost seemed
puzzled. Then he pressed her hand and asked tenderly, "Why not?"

And in a half-audible aside he added, "That's the correct move, I think."

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I said, 'Why not?' " he answered, with increasing tenderness.

"But you said something else."

"I added a brief prayer for pity."

Lady Alicia sighed and repeated a little less firmly. "It wouldn't be
right of me, Mr Beveridge."

"But what would be wrong?"

This was said with even more fervour.

"My conscience--we are very particular, you know."

"Who are 'we'?"

"Papa is _very_ strict High Church."

An idea seemed to strike Mr Beveridge, for he ruminated in silence.

"I asked Mr Candles--our curate, you know," Lady Alicia continued, with a
heroic effort to make her position clear.

"You told him!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I didn't say who it was--I mean what it was I thought of doing--I mean
the temptation--that is, the possibility. And he said it was very kind of
me to think of it; but I mustn't do anything, and he advised me to read a
book he gave me, and--and I mustn't think of it, really, Mr Beveridge."

To himself Mr Beveridge repeated under his breath, "Archbishops, bishops,
deacons, curates, fast in Lent, and an anthem after the Creed. I think I
remember enough to pass."

Then he assumed a very serious face, and said aloud, "Your scruples do
your heart credit. They have given me an insight into your deep and sweet
character, which emboldens me to make a confession."

He stopped skating, folded his arms, and continued unblushingly, "I was
educated for the Church, but the prejudices of my parents, the immature
scepticism of youth, and some uncertainty about obtaining my
archbishopric, induced me in an unfortunate moment, which I never ceased
to bitterly regret, to quit my orders."

"You are in orders?" she exclaimed.

"I was in several. I cancelled them, and entered the Navy instead."

"The Navy?" she asked, excusably bewildered by these rapid changes of
occupation.

"For five years I was never ashore."

"But," she hesitated--"but