was quite truthful, for he
really thought so. He had the run of Mark's room, and they took turns to
smoke in each other's bedrooms, so as to take turns in bearing the
rector's observations on the smell of smoke on the upstairs landing.
Father Marny had a subscription at Mudie's--his only extravagance--and
he always ordered the books he thought Mark wished for, and Mark always
ordered from the London library the books he thought would most interest
Jack. Father Marny revelled in secret in the thought of all that might
have belonged to Mark, and he possessed, of course most carefully
concealed, a wonderful old print he had picked up on a counter, of
Groombridge Castle, exalting the round towers to a preposterous height,
while in the foreground strolled ladies in vast hoops, and some animals
intended apparently for either cows or sheep according to the fancy of
the purchaser.

But what each of the curates loved best was the goodness he discerned in
the other, and the more intimate they became the more goodness they
discerned. The very genuinely good see good, and provoke good by seeing
it, and reflect it back again, as two looking-glasses opposite to each
other repeat each other's light _ad infinitum_.

It was a Monday, and the rector had gone out to dinner, and the two
young men were smoking in the general sitting-room. Father Marny was
looking over the accounts of a boot club, and objurating the handwriting
of the lady who kept them. Mark was in the absolutely passive state to
which some hard-working people can reduce themselves; he had hardly the
energy to smoke. A loud knock produced no effect upon him.

"Lazy brute!" murmured Father Marny, in his affectionate, clear voice,
"can't even fetch the letters." And a moment later he went for them
himself, and having flung a dozen letters over his companion's shoulder,
went back to the accounts.

Ten minutes later he looked up, and gave a little start. He was quick to
see any change in Mark, and he did not like his attitude. He did not
know till that moment how anxious he had been as to the possibility of
some change. He moved quickly forward and stood in front of the deep
chair in which Mark was sitting, leaning forward with his eyes fixed on
the carpet.

"Bad news?" he asked abruptly.

"Bad enough," said Mark, and, very slowly raising his head, he gave a
smile that was the worst part of all the look on his face. Jack Marny
put one hand on his shoulder, and a woman's