apted himself to it, with mocking blue eyes, red hair
and a long nose bent slightly to one side, he was, in every line and
act, vulgar, and yet so arrogantly bent on pleasing that you
unconsciously had to acknowledge his intention and refrain from turning
your back on him. He looked at Tenney in a calculated good humor,
nodded, had his great coat off with a quick gesture, and slung it over
his arm. Then he stepped past Tenney, who stood petrified as if he saw
the risen dead, and into the room. This was Eugene Martin. He seemed not
to be in the least subdued to the accepted rules of prayer-meeting, but
nodded and smiled impartially, and, as if he had flashed that look about
for the one niche waiting for him, stepped lightly over to Tira's corner
and took the chair at her side. Raven, from the tragic change in
Tenney's face, knew who he was and bent forward to see what Tira's eyes
would tell. She was, it seemed, frozen into endurance. Martin, in
seating himself, had given her a cordial good evening. She did not
answer, nor did she look at him. Her pale lips did not move. Nor did
she, on the other hand, withdraw from him. The chairs had been pushed
close, and, as she sat upright, scarcely moving a muscle with her
breath, the blue scarf touched his shoulder. Raven withdrew his gaze,
not to make the moment in any sense conspicuous, and, feeling the
silence, turned to Tenney to see if his leadership could surmount this
base assault. The assault was premeditated. The gay insolence of the
man's manner told him that. Tenney stood there silent, flaccid, a hand
on the casing of the door. Every vestige of religious excitement had
left his face. His overthrow was complete, and Raven, judging how Martin
must rejoice, was for the moment almost as sorry for Tenney as for his
wife. The little disturbance had lasted only a moment, but now all eyes
were turning on Tenney, who had ceased to "lead." In another minute the
eyes would be curious, the silence would be felt. As Raven wondered what
would break the evil spell, Nan's voice came out clear, untinged by the
prevailing somberness, warm with the confidence of youth:

"Can't we sing one of the nice old hymns? Coronation! That's got such a
swing to it."

She began it, and the young voices broke in pell-mell after her like a
joyous crowd, seeing a vine-clad procession, and losing no time in
joining for fear of losing step. Raven knew perfectly well the great old
hymn was no matter for a p