not reject the most claptrap "situations," which a
sophisticated playwright would discard as too obvious. For this sandy
plateau, strewn with satiny pine-needles, was the very horizon that had
looked so blue and beckoning from the little house by the pond. Not far
away was the great Airedale estate, which Gissing had known only at an
admiring distance--and now he was living there as an honoured guest.

The Bishop had taken him to call upon the Airedales; and they, delighted
that the chapel was to be re-opened, had insisted upon his staying with
them. The chapel, in fact, was a special interest with Mr. Airedale, who
had been a leading contributor toward its erection. Gissing was finding
that life seemed to be continually putting him into false positions;
and now he discovered, somewhat to his chagrin, that the lovely little
shrine of St. Spitz, whose stained windows glowed like rubies in its
cloister of dark trees, was rather a fashionable hobby among the wealthy
landowners of Dalmatian Hills. It had been closed all summer, and they
had missed it. The Bishop, in his airy and indefinite way, had not made
it quite plain that Gissing was only a lay reader; and in spite of his
embarrassed disclaimers, he found himself introduced by Mr. Airedale to
the country-house clique as the new "vicar."

But at any rate it was lucky that the Airedales had insisted on taking
him in as a guest; for he had learned from the Bishop (just as the
latter was leaving) that there was no stipend attached to the office of
lay reader. Fortunately he still had much of the money he had saved from
his salary as General Manager. And whatever sense of anomaly he felt
was quickly assuaged by the extraordinary comfort and novelty of his
environment. In the great Airedale mansion he experienced for the first
time that ultimate triumph of civilization--a cup of tea served in bed
before breakfast, with slices of bread-and-butter of tenuous and amazing
fragile thinness. He was pleased, too, with the deference paid him as a
representative of the cloth, even though it compelled him to a
solemnity he did not inwardly feel. But most of all, undoubtedly, he was
captivated by the loveliness and warmth of Miss Airedale.

The Bishop had not erred. Admiring the aristocratic Roman trend of
her brow and nose; the proud, inquisitive carriage of her somewhat
rectangular head, her admirable, vigorous figure and clear topaz
eyes, Gissing was aware of something he had not