a figure by the fireside--a handsome woman resplendent in
jewels and wearing a low-cut, white evening gown--Mary Swinton, the
rector's wife. The room was paneled, and the shadows were deep, relieved
by the glint of gilt on the bindings of the books that filled the shelves
on the three sides. The fireplace was surmounted by a carved mantel, upon
which stood two gilt candelabra and a black statuette. The walls were
burdened by scarce a single picture, and the red curtains at the windows
were only half-drawn. On looking in, the impression given was one of
luxury and of artistic refinement, an ideal room for a winter's night, a
place for retirement, peace and repose.

Mrs. Swinton sat in her own particular chair by the fireside--a most
comfortable tub of a chair--and reclined with her feet outstretched upon
a stool, smoking a cigarette. Her graceful head was thrown back, and, as
she toyed with the cigarette, displaying the arm of a girl and a figure
slim and youthful, it was difficult to believe that this woman could be
the mother of a grown son and daughter. Her brown hair, which had a glint
of gold in it, was carefully dressed, and crowned with a thin circlet of
diamonds. Her shapely little head was poised upon a long, white throat
rising from queenly shoulders. She looked very tall as she lounged thus
with her feet extended and her head thrown back, watching the smoke curl
from her full, red lips.

Opposite her, deep in an armchair, and scarcely visible behind a large
fashion journal, sat Netty Swinton, her daughter, a girl of nineteen, a
mere slip of a woman. The pet name for Netty was, "The Persian," because
she somewhat resembled a Persian cat in her ways, always choosing the
warmest and most comfortable chairs, and curling up on sofas, quite
content to be quiet, only asking to be left alone and caressed at rare
intervals by highly-esteemed persons.

From the ladies' gowns, it was obvious that they were going somewhere;
and, by the rector's ruffled hair and shabby smoking-jacket, that he
would be staying at home, busy over money affairs--the eternal worry of
this household.

The rector was even now struggling with his accounts.

The clever man seemed to be a fool before the realities of life as set
down in numerals. As a young man, he had been a prodigy. People then
spoke of him as a future bishop, and he filled fashionable churches of
the city with the best in the land. They came to hear his sensational
sermons,