e flung the violets far down into the grape-vines below. The
action was without anger, excited rather by a contemptuous indifference.
As for the simple marguerites, she took them up gingerly. The arc these
described through the air was even greater than that performed by the
violets.

"I'm a silly fool, I suppose," she murmured, turning back into the room
again.

It was ten o'clock when the colonel bade his guests good night as they
tumbled out of his motor-boat. They were in more or less exuberant
spirits; for the colonel knew how to do two things particularly well:
order a dinner, and avoid the many traps set for him by scheming mamas and
eligible widows. Abbott, the Barone and Harrigan, arm in arm, marched on
ahead, whistling one tune in three different keys, while Courtlandt set
the pace for the padre.

All through the dinner the padre had watched and listened. Faces were
generally books to him, and he read in this young man's face many things
that pleased him. This was no night rover, a fool over wine and women, a
spendthrift. He straightened out the lines and angles in a man's face as a
skilled mathematician elucidates an intricate geometrical problem. He had
arrived at the basic knowledge that men who live mostly out of doors are
not volatile and irresponsible, but are more inclined to reserve, to
reticence, to a philosophy which is broad and comprehensive and generous.
They are generally men who are accomplishing things, and who let other
people tell about it. Thus, the padre liked Courtlandt's voice, his
engaging smile, his frank unwavering eyes; and he liked the leanness about
the jaws, which was indicative of strength of character. In fact, he
experienced a singular jubilation as he walked beside this silent man.

"There has been a grave mistake somewhere," he mused aloud, thoughtfully.

"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt.

"I beg yours. I was thinking aloud. How long have you known the
Harrigans?"

"The father and mother I never saw before to-day."

"Then you have met Miss Harrigan?"

"I have seen her on the stage."

"I have the happiness of being her confessor."

They proceeded quite as far as a hundred yards before Courtlandt
volunteered: "That must be interesting."

"She is a good Catholic."

"Ah, yes; I recollect now."

"And you?"

"Oh, I haven't any religion such as requires my presence in churches.
Don't misunderstand me! As a boy I was bred in the Episcopal Church; but I
have tra