pest instinct in man."

"As to the ceremonies---" went on the other, with a slightly important
air. His eyes roved round a moment; then he dived into his
breast-pocket, and drew out a thin red-covered book.

"Here is the Order of Worship for the Feast of Paternity," he said. "I
have had it interleaved, and have made a few notes."

He began to turn the pages, and Mabel, with considerable excitement,
drew her chair a little closer to listen.

"That is right, sir," said the other. "Now give us a little lecture."

Mr. Francis closed the book on his finger, pushed his plate aside, and
began to discourse.

"First," he said, "we must remember that this ritual is based almost
entirely upon that of the Masons. Three-quarters at least of the entire
function will be occupied by that. With that the _ceremoniarii_ will not
interfere, beyond seeing that the insignia are ready in the vestries and
properly put on. The proper officials will conduct the rest.... I need
not speak of that then. The difficulties begin with the last quarter."

He paused, and with a glance of apology began arranging forks and
glasses before him on the cloth.

"Now here," he said, "we have the old sanctuary of the abbey. In the
place of the reredos and Communion table there will be erected the large
altar of which the ritual speaks, with the steps leading up to it from
the floor. Behind the altar--extending almost to the old shrine of the
Confessor--will stand the pedestal with the emblematic figure upon it;
and--so far as I understand from the absence of directions--each such
figure will remain in place until the eve of the next quarterly feast."

"What kind of figure?" put in the girl.

Francis glanced at her husband.

"I understand that Mr. Markenheim has been consulted," he said. "He will
design and execute them. Each is to represent its own feast. This for
Paternity---"

He paused again.

"Yes, Mr. Francis?"

"This one, I understand, is to be the naked figure of a man."

"A kind of Apollo--or Jupiter, my dear," put in Oliver.

Yes--that seemed all right, thought Mabel. Mr. Francis's voice moved on
hastily.

"A new procession enters at this point, after the discourse," he said.
"It is this that will need special marshalling. I suppose no rehearsal
will be possible?"

"Scarcely," said Oliver, smiling.

The Master of Ceremonies sighed.

"I feared not. Then we must issue very precise printed instructions.
Those who take part will wit