's early training had, as has been said, implanted in her an
ineradicable interest in the Church. Even the dulled, almost
obliterated personality of Mr. Cotton still held for her some of the
magic of his cloth. She moved her chair to admit him to the fellowship
of which she was one, and offered him the seat that had been hastily
vacated by Mrs. Kirby on his approach, with a darkling eye of reproof
at that experienced lady.

Conversation with Mr. Cotton resembled conversation with his wife, in
that it was apt to be one-sided, life having taught him to take the
side not patronised by Mrs. Cotton. When, however, severed from her,
he was capable of imparting rudimentary fragments of fact, and one of
these he now offered to Miss Coppinger.

"I hear your nephew is the candidate chosen by the Nationalists here
for the next election, Miss Coppinger," he said, his pale eyes
regarding her drearily over the top of his spectacles.

Frederica sat erect in her chair with a jerk, and a hot red sprang,
like a danger-signal, to her face.

"I've heard nothing of it," she said stoutly, but with a leaping heart
of horror. "How do you know it is the case?"

"It is commonly reported in the town," replied Mr. Cotton, "One hears
these things--"

"I can't believe it--I can't believe it," said Frederica; the colour
had left her cheeks, and her eyes hurried from Mr. Cotton's face to
Mrs. St. George's, and roved on to Mrs. Kirby, who was seated near,
and had evidently felt the wind of the shot.

"Why, the boy is only just twenty-one!" said Mrs. Kirby, rolling
herself and her chair back into action to the support of her friend.
"With all deference to you, Mr. Cotton, I don't believe a word of it!
Of course, Larry would have told you, Frederica! I can well believe
that those Gaelic League people would like to have him if they can get
him! Depend upon it, the wish is father to the thought!"

Frederica made no reply; her lips were tightly compressed, and her
unseeing eyes, though they appeared to be fixed on Mrs. Kirby's broad
and friendly face, were looking along the paths of memory to the time
when that barrier of ice had not arisen between her and Larry.

"I understand that the suggestion emanated from Dr. Mangan," went on
Mr. Cotton, faintly stimulated by his unaccustomed success. "I am not
aware if young Mr. Coppinger has made any reply."

Mrs. Kirby put her plump white hand on Frederica's narrow knee. "I
shouldn't distress myself if