em we shall be
back in a moment."

"More money worries, I suppose," sighed Netty with a shrug, as she went
out of the room.

"You see how much Netty cares," cried Mrs. Swinton.

"You're rather hard on the girl, dearest. Your heart is bitter with your
loss. Let us be charitable."

"But Dick!--Dick! Our boy!" she sobbed. Then, with a wonderful effort,
she aroused herself, dried her eyes, and composed her features for the
ordeal of facing her guests again. With remarkable self-control, she
assumed her social manner as a mummer dons his mask; and, after one clasp
of her husband's hand and a sympathetic look, went back to her guests
with that leisurely, graceful step which was so characteristic of the
popular and self-possessed Mary Swinton.

Netty, who was quick to read the signs, saw that something was wrong, and
that her mother was eager to get rid of her guests. She expedited the
farewells with something of her mother's tact, and with an artificial
regret that deceived no one. The bishop went unbidden to the study of his
old friend, the rector, ostensibly to say good-bye, but in reality to
drop a few hints concerning the unpleasant complaints that had reached
him during the year from John Swinton's creditors. He knew Swinton's
worth, his over-generous nature, his impulsive optimism and his
great-hearted Christianity; but a rector whom his parishioners threatened
to make bankrupt was an anxiety in the diocese. While the clergyman
listened to the bishop's friendly words, he could not conceal the misery
in his heart.

"What's the matter?" cried the bishop at last, when John Swinton burst
into tears, and turned away with a sob.

The rector waved his hand to the telegram lying on the table, and the
bishop took it up.

"Dreadful! A terrible blow! Words of sympathy are of little avail at the
present moment, old friend," he said, placing his hand on the other's
shoulder. "Everyone's heart will open to you, John, in this time of
trouble. The Lord giveth and He taketh away. Your son has died the death
of an honorable, upright man. We are all proud of him, as you will be
when you are more resigned. Good-bye, John. This is a time when a man is
best left to the care of his wife."

The parting handgrip between the bishop and the stricken father was long
and eloquent of feeling, and the churchman's voice was husky as he
uttered the final farewell. Soon, everyone was gone. The door closed
behind the last gushing social perso