brough's clever manoeuvers at the suggestion
of her lover. The old question rose again whether she and Charley could
go on in this way; whether it might not be her duty to release him from
an engagement that could only make him miserable.

He called that evening while the Callenders were at six o'clock dinner.
He was in evening dress, on the way to dine at the house of a friend,
and he went straight to the Callender basement dining-room, where he
chatted as much with Mrs. Callender and Agatha as with Phillida, who on
her part could not show her displeasure before the others, for lovers'
quarrels are too precious to be shared with the nearest friend. He left
before the dinner was over, so that Phillida did not have a moment alone
with him. The next evening she expected him to call, but he only sent
her a bunch of callas.

That night Phillida sat by the fire sewing after her mother and Agatha
were asleep. During the past two days she had wrought herself up to a
considerable pitch of indignation against Millard for trying to
influence her through Mrs. Hilbrough, but resentment was not congenial
to her. Millard's effort to change her purposes at least indicated an
undiminished affection. The bunch of flowers on the table was a silent
pleader. If he did wrong in going to Mrs. Hilbrough for advice, might it
not be her own fault? Why had she not been more patient with him on
Sunday afternoon? The callas were so white, they reminded her of
Charley, she thought, for they were clean, innocent, and of graceful
mien. After all, here was one vastly dearer to her than those for whom
she labored and prayed--one whose heart and happiness lay in her very
palm. Might she not soften her line of action somewhat for his sake?

But conscience turned the glass, and she remembered Wilhelmina, and
thought of the happiness of little Hilda Maginnis and her mother. Was it
nothing that God had endowed her with this beneficent power? How could
she shrink from the blessedness of dispensing the divine mercy? Her
imagination took flame at the vision of a life of usefulness and
devotion to those who were suffering.

Then she raised her head and there were the white flowers. She felt an
impulse to kiss her hand in good-night to them as she rose from her
chair, but such an act would have seemed foolish to one of her
temperament.

She went to bed in doubt and got up in perplexity. She could not help
looking forward to Mrs. Frankland's Bible-reading th