Mr. Mafferton cast a glance of alarm at Mr. Dod and Miss Portheris, who were raptly exchanging views as to the respective merits of a cleek and a brassey shot given certain peculiar bunkers and a sandy green--as if two infatuated people talking golf would have ears for anything else! "Not on any account," he said hurriedly. "The best quality of friendship sometimes arises out of the most unfortunate circumstances," I added. The sympathy in my voice was for Dicky and Isabel. Mr. Mafferton looked at me expressively and the carriage drew up at the Catacombs of St. Callistus. Mrs. Portheris was awaiting us by the gate, however, so in getting out I gave my hand to Dicky. Inside and outside the gate, how quiet it was. Nothing on the Appian Way but dust and sunlight, nothing in the field within the walls but yellowing grass and here and there a field-daisy bending in the silence. It made one think of an old faded water-colour, washed in with tears, that clings to its significance though all its reality is gone. Then we saw a little bare house to the left with an open door, and inside found Brothers Demetrius and Eusebius in Trappist gowns and ropes, who would sell us beads for the profitable employment of our souls, and chocolate and photographs, and wonderful eucalyptus liqueur from the Three Fountains, and when we had well bought would show us the city of the long, long dead of which they were custodians. They were both obliging enough to speak English, Brother Demetrius imperfectly and haltingly, and without the assistance of those four front teeth which are so especially necessary to a foreign tongue, Brother Eusebius fluently, and with such richness of dialect that we were not at all surprised to learn that he had served his Pope for some years in the State of New York. "For de ladi de chocolate. Ith it not?" said Brother Demetrius, with an inducive smile. "It ith de betht in de worl', dis chocolate." "Don't you believe him," said Brother Eusebius, "he's known as the oldest of the Roman frauds. Wants your money, that's what he wants." Brother Demetrius shook his fist in amicable, wagging protest. "That's the way he goes on, you know--quarrelsome old party. But I don't say it's bad chocolate. Try it, young lady, try it." He handed a bit to Isabel, who looked at her momma. "There is no possible objection, my dear," said Mrs. Portheris, and she nibbled it. Dicky invested wildly. "Dese photograff dey are very pritty," remarked Brother Demetrius to momma, who was turning over some St. Stephens and St. Cecilias. "He'd say anything to sell them," put in Brother Eusebius. "He never thinks of his immortal soul, any more than if he was a poor miserable heretic. He'll tell you they're originals next, taken by Nero at the time. You're all good Catholics, of course?" "We are not any kind of Catholics," said Mrs. Portheris severely.