tip and down.
Very likely the tears still glistened upon her proud old face. Anyway
this impossible person appears to have considered her a promising case.
Emboldened by her silence, he laid his hand upon her arm, and repeated
his question: 'Madam, are you a Christian?' Then the duchess awoke to the
situation with a vengeance. 'My good man,' she said, clearly and
deliberately, so that all in the lobby could hear; 'I should have thought
it would have been perfectly patent to your finely trained perceptions,
that I am an engaging mixture of Jew, Turk, Infidel, and Heathen Chinee!
Now, if you will kindly stand aside, I will pass to my carriage.'--And
the duchess sampled no more evangelistic meetings!"

The doctor sighed. "Tactless," he said. "Ah, the pity of it, when 'fools
rush in where angels fear to tread!'"

"People scream with laughter, when the duchess tells it," said Lady
Ingleby; "but then she imitates the unctuous person so exactly; and she
does not mention the tears. I have them from an eye-witness. But--as I
was saying--I like your expression: 'spiritual life.' It really holds a
meaning; and, though one may have to admit one does not possess any, or,
that what one does possess is at a low ebb, yet one sees the genuine
thing in others, and it is something to believe in, at all events.--Look
how peacefully little Peter is sleeping. You have evidently set his mind
at rest. That is Michael's armchair; and, therefore, Peter's. Now we will
send away the tea-things; and then--may I become a patient?"

CHAPTER III

WHAT PETER KNEW

"Isn't my good Groatley a curious looking person?" said Lady Ingleby, as
the door closed behind the butler. "I call him the Gryphon, because he
looks perpetually astonished. His eyebrows are like black horseshoes, and
they mount higher and higher up his forehead as one's sentence proceeds.
But he is very faithful, and knows his work, and Michael approves him. Do
you like this portrait of Michael? Garth Dalmain stayed here a few months
before he lost his sight, poor boy, and painted us both. I believe mine
was practically his last portrait. It hangs in the dining-room."

The doctor moved his chair opposite the fireplace, so that he could sit
facing the picture over the mantelpiece, yet turn readily toward Lady
Ingleby on his left. On his right, little Peter, with an occasional
sobbing sigh, slept heavily in his absent master's chair. The log-fire
burned brightly. The electric lig