oomy beautiful face before her, which alternately
attracted and repelled her.

As though disturbed by some magnetic influence, Mrs. Cheyne raised her
eyes slowly and looked at Phillis. Something in the girl's keen-eyed
glance seemed to move her strangely. The color crept into her pale
face, and her lip quivered: a moment afterwards she drew down her veil
and leaned back in her seat and Phillis, somewhat abashed, endeavored
fruitlessly to gather up the thread of the sermon.

"There! it is over! We have made our _debut_," she said, a little
recklessly, as they walked back to Beach House, where Mrs. Challoner
and Dulce were still staying. And as Nan looked at her, a little
shocked and mystified by this unusual flippancy, she continued in the
same excited way:

"Was it not strange Mr. Drummond choosing that text, 'Consider the
lilies'? He looked at us; I am sure he did, mother. It was quite a
tirade against dress and vanity; but I am sure no one could find fault
with us."

"It was a very good sermon, and I think he seems a very clever young
man," returned Mrs. Challoner, with a sigh, for the service had been a
long weariness for her. She had not been unmindful of the attention
her girls had caused; but if people only knew--And here the poor lady
had clasped her hands and put up petitions that were certainly not in
the Litany.

Phillis seemed about to say something, but she checked herself, and
they were all a little silent until they reached the house. This first
Sunday was an infliction to them all: it was a day of enforced
idleness. There was too much time for thought and room for regret. In
spite of all Phillis's efforts,--and she rattled on cheerily most of
the afternoon,--Mrs. Challoner got one of her bad headaches, from
worry, and withdrew to her room, attended by Dulce, who volunteered to
bathe her head and read her to sleep.

The church-bells were just ringing for the evening service, and Nan
rose, as usual, to put on her hat; but Phillis stopped her:

"Oh, Nan, do not let us go to church again this evening. I am terribly
wicked to-day, I know, but somehow I cannot keep my thoughts in order.
So what is the use of making the attempt? Let us take out our
prayer-books and sit on the beach: it is low tide, and a walk over the
sands would do us good after our dreadful week."

"If you are sure it would not be wrong," hesitated Nan, whose
conscience was a little hard to convince in such matters.

"No, no. And t