The stairs were scarcely more than a ship’s gangway. Mrs. Carruth politely suppressed her sense of horrified inadequacy to the ascent, and she climbed up as bravely as possible. Helen’s cast-down eyes observed the uncarpeted steps of old, stained pine-wood. She was still silent when they entered the study. Bayard bustled about, offering Mrs. Carruth the bony rocking-chair with the turkey-red cushion. The Professor had already ensconced himself in the revolving study-chair, a luxury which had been recently added to the room. There remained for Helen the lounge, and Bayard, perforce, seated himself beside her. He did not remark upon the deficiency of furniture. He seemed as much above an apology for the lack of upholstery as a martyr in prison. His face was radiant with a pleasure which no paltry thought could poison. The simple occasion seemed to him one of high festivity. It would have been impossible for any one of these comfortable people to understand what it meant to the poor fellow to entertain old friends in his lonely quarters. Helen’s eyes assumed a blank, polite look; she said as little as possible at first; she seemed adjusting herself to a shock. Mrs. Carruth warbled on about the opening of the season at the Mainsail, and the Professor inquired about the effects of the recent gales upon the fishing classes. He avoided all perilous personalities as adroitly as if he had been fencing with a German radical over the authenticity of the Fourth Gospel. It was Bayard himself who boldly approached the dangerous ground. “You came on Saturday, I suppose? I did not know anything about it till this minute.” “We did not come till night,” observed Helen hurriedly. “Mother was very tired. We did not go out anywhere yesterday.” “The Professor did, I’ll be bound,” smiled Bayard. “Went to church, didn’t you, Professor?” “Ye--es,” replied Professor Carruth, hesitating. “I never omit divine service if I am on my feet.” “Did you hear Fenton?” asked Bayard with perfect ease of manner. “Yes,” more boldly from the Professor, “I attended the First Church. I like to recognize The Denomination wherever I may be traveling. I always look up my old boys, of course, too. It seems to be a prosperous parish.” “It _is_ a prosperous parish,” assented Bayard heartily. “Fenton is doing admirably with it. Did you hear him?” “Why yes,” replied the Professor, breathing more freely. “I heard Fenton. He did well--quite well. He has not that scope of intellect which--I never considered him our _ablest_ man; but his theology is perfectly satisfactory. He preached an excellent doctrinal sermon. The audience was not so large as I could have wished; but it seemed to be of a superior quality--some of your first citizens, I should say?” “Oh, yes, our first people all attend that church. You didn’t find many of _my_ crowd there, I presume?” Bayard laughed easily.