itical ass!" Donald soliloquized. "She was the
mezzo-soprano soloist in your choir four years, and you haven't tried
to help her since she came back to the Sawdust Pile."

It was a good sermon, as sermons go. In fact, the Reverend Mr.
Tingley, warming to his theme, quite outdid himself on the subject of
charity as practised by his Redeemer, and, as a result, was the
recipient of numberless congratulatory handshakes later at the church
door. Donald agreed that it was an unusually good sermon--in theory;
but since he knew it would collapse in practise, he avoided Mr.
Tingley after service.

On the steps of the church he was accosted by Andrew Daney and the
latter's wife, who greeted him effusively. Unfortunately for Mrs.
Daney, Nan, in one of those bursts of confidence that must ever exist
between lovers, had informed Donald the night previous of the motherly
soul's interest in his affairs; wherefore he returned Mrs. Daney's
warm greeting with such chilly courtesy that she was at no loss to
guess the reason for it and was instantly plunged into a slough of
terror and despair. She retained sufficient wit, however, to draw her
husband away, thus preventing him from walking with Donald.

"I want to tell him about Dirty Dan," Daney protested, in a low voice.
"As the boss, he ought to be told promptly of any injury to an
employe."

"Never mind Dirty Dan," she retorted. "He'll hear of it soon enough.
Let us congratulate Mr. Tingley on his sermon."

Donald, having turned his back on them almost rudely, strode down the
street to his car and motored back to The Dreamerie. He spent the
remainder of the morning force-breaking a setter puppy to retrieve; at
one o'clock, he ate a cold luncheon, and immediately thereafter drove
down to Port Agnew and brazenly parked his car in front of Caleb
Brent's gate.

He entered without the formality of knocking, and Nan met him in the
tiny entrance-hall.

"I couldn't wait until dinner-time," he explained. "Nobody home at The
Dreamerie--" He took her face in his calloused hands, drew her to him.
"You're sweet in that calico gown," he informed her, waiving a
preliminary word of greeting. "I love you," he added softly, and
kissed her. She clung to him.

"You should not have come here in broad daylight," she protested. "Oh,
you big, foolish, impulsive dear! Don't you realize I want to protect
you from the tongue of scandal? If you persist in forgetting who you
are, does it follow that I sh