ircase, and
look down on the ant-like figures in the streets below; to descend with
her to the subterranean vaults. ... He, Rupert Guest, wished to visit
Saint Paul's on a grilling June afternoon, in preference to attending a
fashionable rendezvous--what madness was this which possessed him? It
was rank folly; he would be ashamed to put the request into words.
Pshaw! it was only the impulse of a moment--he would never think of it
again. Then he looked at Cornelia once more, and heard himself say, in
deliberate tones--

"May I come with you? I should not interrupt. If you prefer, I could
sit in another place during the service, but I'd like to come.
Afterwards we could go round together. It would be good of you to give
me the chance."

"But--the reception?"

"Oh, hang the reception! I'm not sure that I should go in any ease. Do
let me come, Miss Briskett. I want to. Badly!"

Cornelia hesitated, staring at him with puzzled eyes.

"You seemed to think Saint Paul's a pretty queer choice when I mentioned
it a few minutes back!"

"I did; more shame to me, I suppose; but then you explained your
reasons.--I don't pretend that I should care to go by myself, but if you
take me as your companion, it might be good for me, too. ... Would it
disturb you to have me there?"

"No-o," said Cornelia, slowly. "I'd as lief you were there as not! I
feel differently since I heard that story. ... You must need heartening
up sometimes. Let's go right along then, and see if we ken't lay in a
store of good thoughts, that will help us along for quite a while. Will
you order a cab?" ...

Guest walked in silence to the door of the hotel. By his own request he
was going to attend a church afternoon service with Cornelia Briskett!
The thing seemed too extraordinary to be believed! He took his seat in
the hansom in a kind of stunned surprise. Truly, every man was a
stranger to himself, and there was no foretelling what an hour might
bring forth!

Cornelia turned to survey herself in the slip of mirror, and carefully
adjusted the set of her hat.

"Say!" she cried, laughingly, "we've forgotten that chaperon! Suppose
you think one's not needed in a cathedral." She paused, dimpling
mischievously. "Well! that's just as you're made. I guess if I were
set on it, I could flirt in a _crypt_!"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Captain Guest could not flatter himself that Cornelia was in anyway "set
on" flirting with himself, since n