"--and spend the afternoon." "Father!" Out of the narrow doorway that led from the gallery stairs Lita could now see her mother emerging. She was dressed in soft blues and grays like a pigeon's breast, and her eyes, dazzled by the March sunlight, were darting about in search of her daughter among all the other figures in blue serge. Then Lita saw that Miss Barton had stopped her and introduced the bishop. That meant another minute or two; her mother would feel she simply must be civil to the bishop. "Father." "Don't interrupt me, Lita. You're just like--it's a very disagreeable habit." "But you see mother's here, too, father." Every trace of expression vanished from Mr. Hazlitt's face--his own way of expressing emotion. Then he said in a hard, even voice, "My first Sunday!" "I know, dear, but you see it's her regular Sunday." "Of course. I'm not criticizing your mother," he answered, in that tone in which the phrase is so often used, as if he could do it magnificently if he let himself go. "Only I must say that after three months' absence I did hope--" He stopped; his face, which had been blank before, now became set like steel, and Lita saw that his eyes had fallen on the former partner of his life. It was most alarming. At any instant her mother might grow weary of the bishop and turn from him. Lita laid her hand on her father's arm. "So, you see, dear," she said rather glibly, "I can't possibly lunch with you." "I don't see it at all," replied her father. "Your mother has had you to herself all this winter. I'm afraid I shall have to insist. There is something I want to talk over with you." Lita had not anticipated the least difficulty with her father. He usually yielded his rights in silence, and afterward her mother explained to her how mistaken he had been in supposing he had any rights. She sighed, and he caught the sigh. "Unless," he added, "you don't want to lunch with me." His feelings were hurt. She couldn't bear that. "Of course, I always want to lunch with you," she said, and she was glad this hearty assurance did not carry so far as her mother's ears. "I'll run and explain, and I'll meet you at the main gate in half an hour." She turned away. Miss Barton, to whom Sunday was a terrible day, devoted to placating visiting parents, who always had one disagreeable thing to say before they left, had rather mistakenly abandoned the bishop entirely to Mrs. Hazlitt. As Lita approached them she heard her mother saying: "But I think it's so much nicer for wolves to be wolfish and leopards leopardy. I'm sure the heathen are ever so much happier the way they are, sharpening their teeth and eating one another up, poor dears."