r. Dryland
whether he would not accompany them.

"I shall be delighted, if I'm not _de trop_."

He looked with laughing significance from one to the other.

"I wanted to talk to you about my girls," said Mary.

She had a class of village maidens, to whom she taught sewing, respect
for their betters, and other useful things.

"I was just telling Captain Parsons that you were an angel of mercy,
Miss Clibborn."

"I'm afraid I'm not that," replied Mary, gravely. "But I try to do my
duty."

"Ah!" cried Mr. Dryland, raising his eyes so that he looked exactly like
a codfish, "how few of us can say that!"

"I'm seriously distressed about my girls. They live in nasty little
cottages, and eat filthy things; they pass their whole lives under the
most disgusting conditions, and yet they're happy. I can't get them to
see that they ought to be utterly miserable."

"Oh, I know," sighed the curate; "it makes me sad to think of it."

"Surely, if they're happy, you can want nothing better," said James,
rather impatiently.

"But I do. They have no right to be happy under such circumstances. I
want to make them feel their wretchedness."

"What a brutal thing to do!" cried James.

"It's the only way to improve them. I want them to see things as I see
them."

"And how d'you know that you see them any more correctly than they do?"

"My dear Jamie!" cried Mary; and then as the humour of such a suggestion
dawned upon her, she burst into a little shout of laughter.

"What d'you think is the good of making them dissatisfied?" asked James,
grimly.

"I want to make them better, nobler, worthier; I want to make their
lives more beautiful and holy."

"If you saw a man happily wearing a tinsel crown, would you go to him
and say, 'My good friend, you're making a fool of yourself. Your crown
isn't of real gold, and you must throw it away. I haven't a golden crown
to give you instead, but you're wicked to take pleasure in that sham
thing.' They're just as comfortable, after their fashion, in a hovel as
you in your fine house; they enjoy the snack of fat pork they have on
Sunday just as much as you enjoy your boiled chickens and blanc-manges.
They're happy, and that's the chief thing."

"Happiness is not the chief thing in this world, James," said Mary,
gravely.

"Isn't it? I thought it was."

"Captain Parsons is a cynic," said Mr. Dryland, with a slightly
supercilious smile.

"Because I say it's idiotic to apply your standar