o hide the difference proved that she thought there was a
difference, and this proved that her standpoint was an essentially
plebeian one. There was no difference at all, save one of convenience;
the same sort of difference there is between people who have hot water
laid on all over their houses and those who have to carry it upstairs.
And who would be so trivial and commonplace as to talk about that?"

Elisabeth, seeing that her cousin was in the right, wisely changed the
subject. "The Bishop of Merchester is preaching at St. Peter's Church,
in Silverhampton, on St. Peter's Day, and I have asked Alan Tremaine to
drive me over in his dog-cart to hear him." Although she had strayed
from the old paths of dogma and doctrine, Elisabeth could not eradicate
the inborn Methodist nature which hungers and thirsts after
righteousness as set forth in sermons.

"I should like to hear him too, my dear," said Miss Farringdon, who also
had been born a Methodist.

"Then will you come? In that case we can have our own carriage, and I
needn't bother Alan," said Elisabeth, with disappointment written in
capital letters all over her expressive face.

"On which day is it, and at what hour?"

"To-morrow evening at half-past six," replied the girl, knowing that
this was the hour of the evening sacrifice at East Lane Chapel, and
trusting to the power of habit and early association to avert the
addition of that third which would render two no longer any company for
each other.

Her trust was not misplaced. "It is our weekevening service, my dear,
with the prayer-meeting after. Did you forget?"

Elisabeth endeavoured to simulate the sudden awakening of a dormant
memory. "So it is!"

"I see no reason why you should not go into Silverhampton to hear the
Bishop," said Miss Farringdon kindly. "I like young people to learn the
faith once delivered to the saints, from all sorts and conditions of
teachers; but I shall feel it my duty to be in my accustomed place."

So it came to pass, one never-to-be-forgotten summer afternoon, that
Alan Tremaine drove Elisabeth Farringdon into Silverhampton to hear the
Bishop of Merchester preach.

As soon as she was safely tucked up in the dog-cart, with no way of
escape, Elisabeth saw a look in Alan's eyes which told her that he meant
to make love to her; so with that old, old feminine instinct, which made
the prehistoric woman take to her heels when the prehistoric man began
to run after her, this daugh