ucified upon an upright cross and surrounded by a border of coiled
asps with winged heads. The window glittered like a sheet of gems.

"What wonderful glass," involuntarily said St. George.

"Is it not?" Miss Holland said enthusiastically. "My father sent it.
He sent nearly all these things from abroad."

"I wonder where such glass is made," observed St. George; "it is
like lace and precious stones--hardly more painted than carved."

She bent upon him such a sudden, searching look that St. George felt
his eyes held by her own.

"Do you know anything of my father?" she demanded suddenly.

"Only that Mrs. Hastings has just told me that he is abroad--in the
South Atlantic," St. George wonderingly replied.

"Why, I am very foolish," said Miss Holland quickly, "we have not
heard from him in ten months now, and I am frightfully worried. Ah
yes, the glass is beautiful. It was made in one of the South
Atlantic islands, I believe--so were all these things," she added;
"the same figure of the crucified sphinx is on many of them."

"Do you know what it means?" he asked.

"It is the symbol used by the people in one of the islands, my
father said," she answered.

"These symbols usually, I believe," volunteered Mr. Frothingham,
frowning at the glass, "have little significance, standing merely
for the loose barbaric ideas of a loose barbaric nation."

St. George thought of the ladies of Doctor Johnson's Amicable
Society who walked from the town hall to the Cathedral in Lichfield,
"in linen gowns, and each has a stick with an acorn; but for the
acorn they could give no reason."

He looked long at the glass.

"She," he said finally, "our false mulatto, ought to stand before
just such glass."

Miss Holland laughed. She nodded her head a little, once, every time
she laughed, and St. George was learning to watch for that.

"The glass would suit any style of beauty better than steel bars,"
she said lightly as Mrs. Hastings came fluttering back. Mrs.
Hastings fluttered ponderously, as humblebees fly. Indeed, when one
considered, there was really a "blunt-faced bee" look about the
woman.

The brougham had on the box two men in smart livery; the footman,
closing the door, received St. George's reply to Mrs. Hastings'
appeal to "tell the man the number of this frightful place."

"I dare say I haven't been careful," Mrs. Hastings kept anxiously
observing, "I have been heedless, I dare say. And I always think
that what one m