"Yes, I know: you may spare me that. I will listen to it all next
Sunday, if you will, when you have it your own way, and one cannot sin
against decorum and answer you. Yes, yes, there is so much to do, is
there not?--hungry people to be fed, and sick to visit,--all sorts of
disagreeables that people call duties. Ah, I am a sad sinner! I only
draw for my own amusement, and leave the poor old world to get on
without me. What a burden I must be on your conscience, Mr.
Drummond,--heavier than all the rest of your parish. What, are you
going already? and Miss Mewlstone has never given you any tea."

Then Archie explained, very shortly, that he had partaken of that
beverage at Brooklyn, and his leave-taking was rather more formal than
usual. He was very much surprised, as he stood at the hall door, that
always stood open in the summer, to hear the low sweep of a dress over
the tessellated pavement behind him, and to see a white pudgy hand
laid on his coat-sleeve.

"My dear Miss Mewlstone, how you startled me!"

"Just so; yes, I am afraid I did, Mr. Drummond; but I just wanted to
say, never mind all that nonsense; come again: she likes to see you;
she does, indeed. It is only her way to talk so; she means no harm,
poor dear,--oh, none at all!"

"Excuse me," returned Archie, in a hurt voice, "but I think you are
mistaken. Mrs. Cheyne does not care for my visits, and shows me she
does not: if it were not my duty, I should not come so often."

"No, no; just so, but all the same it rouses her and does her good. It
is a bad day with her, poor dear!--the very day the darlings were
taken ill, four years ago. Now, don't go away and fancy things, don't,
there's a dear young man; come as often as you can, and try and do her
good."

"Oh, if I only knew how that is to be done!" returned Archie, slowly;
but he was mollified in spite of himself. There were tears in Miss
Mewlstone's little blue eyes: perhaps she was a good creature after
all.

"I will come again, but not just yet," he said, nodding to her
good-humoredly; but as he walked down the road he told himself that
Mrs. Cheyne had never before made herself so disagreeable, and that it
would be long before he set foot in the White House again.

CHAPTER XVII.

"A FRIEND IN NEED."

Human nature is weak, and we are told there are mixed motives to be
found even in the holiest actions. Mr. Drummond never could be brought
to acknowledge even to himself the reason wh