, and did her duty and pursued a
thousand things outside of her duty with such enthusiasm that she was
continually knocked up. On these continual occasions Maurice Dale was
invariably sent for, and so an intimacy grew up between him and the
Rectory, which contained the Canon, his daughter, and the servants. For
Mrs. Alston was dead, and Lily was an only child. Real intimacy with a
Rectory means, above all things, Sunday suppers after evening church,
and, in time, it became an unalterable custom for Maurice Dale to spend
the twilight of his Sabbaths with the Canon and his daughter. The Canon,
who was intellectual and desolate, despite his daughter, since his
wife's death, liked a talk with Maurice; and Lily, without having fallen
in love with the young doctor, thought him, as she said to herself, "a
wonderfully interesting study."

Lily's wild surmises, already alluded to, were born on one of these
Sabbath evenings in winter, when she, the Canon, and Maurice, were
gathered round the fire after supper.

The sea could be heard rolling upon the pebbly beach at a distance, and
the wind played about the skirts of the darkness. The Canon, happily at
ease after his hard day's work, rested in his red armchair puffing at
his well-seasoned pipe. Lily was lying on a big old-fashioned sofa drawn
before the flames, a Persian cat, grave in its cloud of fur, nestling
against her and singing its song of comfort. Maurice Dale sat upright,
pulling at a cigar. It chanced that Lily had been away the week before,
paying a visit in London, and naturally the conversation turned idly
upon her doings.

"I used to love London," the Canon said, with a half sigh. "In the old
days, when I shocked one or two good people here, Lily, by taking your
mother to the playhouses. Somehow I don't care for these modern plays. I
don't think she would have liked them."

"I love London, too," Lily said, in her enthusiastic voice, "but I think
modern plays are intensely interesting, especially Ibsen's."

"They're cruel," the Canon said.

"Yes, father, but not more cruel than some of the older pieces."

"Such as--?"

"I was thinking of 'The Bells.' I saw Irving in it on Friday for the
first time. You've seen it, of course, Mr. Dale?"

Maurice, who had been gazing into the fire, looked up. His lips
tightened for a moment, then he said:

"No, never!"

"What! Though you lived in London all those years when you were a
medical student?"

"I had opportuni