father every Sunday."

"And why can't you?"

"Because the church is not what it used to be,"--declared Reay--"Don't
get me on that argument, David, or I shall never cease talking! Now, see
here!--if you stand any longer at that open door you'll get a chill! You
go inside the house and imitate Charlie's example--look at him!" And he
pointed to the tiny toy terrier snuggled up as usual in a ball of silky
comfort on the warm hearth--"Small epicure! Come back to your chair,
David, and sit by the fire--your hands are quite cold."

Helmsley yielded to the persuasion, not because he felt cold, but
because he was rather inclined to be alone with Reay for a little. They
entered the house and shut the door.

"Doesn't it look a different place without her!" said Angus, glancing
round the trim little kitchen--"As neat as a pin, of course, but all the
life gone from it."

Helmsley smiled, but did not answer. Seating himself in his armchair, he
spread out his thin old hands to the bright fire, and watched Reay as he
stood near the hearth, leaning one arm easily against a rough beam which
ran across the chimney piece.

"She is a wonderful woman!" went on Reay, musingly; "She has a power of
which she is scarcely conscious."

"And what is that?" asked Helmsley, slowly rubbing his hands with quite
an abstracted air.

Angus laughed lightly, though a touch of colour reddened his bronzed
cheeks.

"The power that the old alchemists sought and never could find!" he
answered--"The touch that transmutes common metals to fine gold, and
changes the every-day prose of life to poetry."

Helmsley went on rubbing his hands slowly.

"It's so extraordinary, don't you think, David,"--he continued--"that
there should be such a woman as Miss Mary alive at all?"

Helmsley looked up at him questioningly, but said nothing.

"I mean,"--and Angus threw out his hand with an impetuous gesture--"that
considering all the abominable, farcical tricks women play nowadays, it
is simply amazing to find one who is contented with a simple life like
this, and who manages to make that simple life so gracious and
beautiful!"

Still Helmsley was silent.

"Now, just think of that girl I've told you about--Lucy
Sorrel,"--proceeded Angus--"Nothing would have contented her in all this
world!"

"Not even her old millionaire?" suggested Helmsley, placidly.

"No, certainly not! Poor old devil! He'll soon find himself put on the
shelf if he marries her. He won