able the chapel-business eye of Mrs. Marshal, which saw every stranger that entered "Hope," at once to recognise her as having made one of the congregation the last Sunday evening. Evidently one of Mr. Graham's party, she was not prejudiced in her favor. But there was that in her manner which impressed her — that something ethereal and indescribable which she herself was constantly aping — and, almost involuntarily, she took upon herself such honors as the place, despicable in her eyes, would admit of. She rose, made a sweeping curtsy, and addressed Lady Clementina with such a manner as people of Mrs. Marshal's ambitions put off and on like their clothes. "Pray, take a seat, ma'am, such as it is," she said with a wave of her hand. "I believe I have had the pleasure of seeing you at our place."
Lady Clementina sat down: the room was too small to stand in, and Mrs. Marshal seemed to take the half of it. "I am not aware of the honor," she returned, doubtful what the woman meant — perhaps some shop or dressmaker's. Clementina was not one who delighted in freezing her humbler fellow-creatures, as we know; but there was something altogether repulsive in the would-be-grand but really arrogant behavior of her fellow-visitor.
"I mean," said Mrs. Marshal, a little abashed, for ambition is not strength, "at our little Bethel in Kentish Town. Not that we live there," she explained with a superior smile.
"Oh, I think I understand. You must mean the chapel where this gentleman was preaching."
"That is my meaning," assented Mrs. Marshal.
"I went there to-night," said Clementina, turning with some timidity to Mr. Graham. "That I did not find you there, sir, will, I hope, explain ——" Here she paused, and turned again to Mrs. Marshal: "I see you think with me, madam, that a true teacher is worth following." As she said this she turned once more to Mr. Graham, who sat listening with a queer, amused, but right courteous smile. "I hope you will pardon me," she continued, "for venturing to call upon you, and, as I have had the misfortune to find you occupied, allow me to call another day. If you would set me a time, I should be more obliged than I can tell you," she concluded, her voice trembling a little.
"Stay now if you will, madam," returned the schoolmaster with a bow of the oldest-fashioned courtesy. "This lady has done laying her commands upon me, I believe."
"As you think proper to call them commands, Mr. Graham, I conclude you intend to obey them," said Mrs. Marshal with a forced smile and an attempt at pleasantry.
"Not for the world, madam," he answered. "Your son is acting the part of a gentleman — yes, I make bold to say, of one who is very nigh the kingdom of heaven, if not indeed within its gate, and before I would check him I would be burnt at the stake — even were your displeasure the fire, madam," he added, with a kindly bow. "Your son is a fine fellow."
"He would be if he were left to himself. Good-evening, Mr. Graham. Goodbye, rather, for I think we are not likely to meet again."
"In heaven, I hope, madam, for by that time we shall be able to understand each other," said the schoolmaster, still kindly.
Mrs. Marshal made no answer beyond a facial flash as she turned to Clementina. "Good-evening, ma'am," she said. "To pay court to the earthen vessel because of the treasure it may happen to hold is to be a respecter of persons as bad as any."
An answering flash broke from Clementina's blue orbs, but her speech was more than calm as she returned: "I learned something of that lesson last Sunday evening, I hope, ma'am. But you have left me far behind, for you seem to have learned disrespect even to the worthiest of persons. Good-evening, ma'am," She looked the angry matron full in the face with an icy regard, from which, as from the Gorgon eye, she fled.
The victor turned to the schoolmaster. "I beg your pardon, sir," she said, "for presuming to take your part, but a gentleman is helpless with a vulgar woman."
"I thank you, madam. I hope the sharpness of your rebuke —— But indeed the poor woman can hardly help her rudeness, for she is very worldly, and believes herself very pious. It is the old story — hard for the rich."
Clementina was struck. "I too am rich and worldly," she said. "But I know that I am not pious, and if you would but satisfy me that religion is common sense, I would try to be religious with all my heart and soul."
"I willingly undertake the task. But let us know each other a little first. And lest I should afterwards seem to have
