hful pleasure in
ministering to the minor desires of her illustrious guest. "It is
so good of you, Father, to honor me in this way," she said--with the
appearance of sixteen super-induced upon the reality of sixty.

Father Benwell was an adept at moral disguises of all kinds. On this
occasion he wore the disguise of pastoral simplicity. "I am an idle old
man at this hour of the afternoon," he said. "I hope I am not keeping
you from any household duties?"

"I generally enjoy my duties," Miss Notman answered. "To-day, they have
not been so agreeable as usual; it is a relief to me to have done with
them. Even my humble position has its trials."

Persons acquainted with Miss Notman's character, hearing these last
words, would have at once changed the subject. When she spoke of "her
humble position," she invariably referred to some offense offered to
her dignity, and she was invariably ready to state the grievance at full
length. Ignorant of this peculiarity, Father Benwell committed a fatal
error. He inquired, with courteous interest, what the housekeeper's
"trials" might be.

"Oh, sir, they are beneath your notice!" said Miss Notman modestly. "At
the same time, I should feel it an honor to have the benefit of your
opinion--I should so like to know that you do not altogether disapprove
of my conduct, under some provocation. You see, Father, the whole
responsibility of ordering the dinners falls on me. And, when there is
company, as there is this evening, the responsibility is particularly
trying to a timid person like myself."

"A large dinner party, Miss Notman?"

"Oh, dear, no! Quite the reverse. Only one gentleman--Mr. Romayne."

Father Benwell set down his cup of coffee, half way to his lips. He at
once drew the correct conclusion that the invitation to Romayne must
have been given and accepted after he had left the picture gallery. That
the object was to bring Romayne and Stella together, under circumstances
which would rapidly improve their acquaintance, was as plain to him as
if he had heard it confessed in so many words. If he had only remained
in the gallery, he might have become acquainted with the form of
persuasion used to induce a man so unsocial as Romayne to accept an
invitation. "I have myself to blame," he thought bitterly, "for being
left in the dark."

"Anything wrong with the coffee?" Miss Notman asked anxiously.

He rushed on his fate. He said, "Nothing whatever. Pray go on."

Miss Notman we