The involuntary arbiter of Jim’s spiritual destiny, according to his own interpretation, was a pretty Irish girl, Miss Brennan, whom he and John had employed as their accountant and stenographer. She was a silly, sentimentally-inclined young woman who accepted admiration indiscriminately from all sources. She had troubles, the chief of which were a drunken father and a cross-grained mother. Under the influence of John’s expansive sympathy, which she soon appraised, her secrets were unfolded to him and he, with constant ardency, accepted the rôle of father confessor. She did not like Jim, whose disapproval she felt, and most of her interviews with John were reserved for hours when the two were almost certain not to be interrupted. She was a devout Roman Catholic and John, under her tutelage, began to evince a sudden interest in Catholicism. “You know that little Miss Brennan, she’s so beautifully simple,” he told Jim one day at luncheon. “I happened to be passing her church when she was going in the other day and just for curiosity I went in with her. Catholicism is the only religion left for an artist anyway. You don’t know how much it affected me when I saw how in earnest she was with her beads and genuflections. The whole thing reminded me of a mediæval picture. It’s about the only naïve thing left in our sophisticated age.” “Catholics may be naïve but not the Catholic Church,” remarked Jim unsympathetically. He was not thinking of questions of religious feeling however as he studied John’s face. John was irritated by this scrutiny. “You seem to have lost all your temperamental appreciation of things, Jim,” he observed in a vexed tone. The first confirmation which Jim’s unadmitted suspicions received came when John insisted on raising Miss Brennan’s salary. “She’s almost the only dependence of her family, and the things she has to put up with to keep things going are pitiful,” he declared. “How much do you think we ought to give her?” asked Jim. John hesitated, and, glancing away as he spoke, named the sum Miss Brennan had suggested, which almost doubled the amount she was receiving. There was a brief pause. “We can’t afford to turn the business into a philanthropic enterprise,” Jim answered laconically. It was the next day that Jim, entering the office at an unanticipated moment, surprised Miss Brennan in tears and John soothing her with unconventional tenderness. Jim passed on into the draughting room, not seeming to observe the confusion of the pair, and it was John himself who, with a guilty air, referred to the subject an hour later when the stenographer was out for luncheon. “I guess you were surprised when you came in and found Miss Brennan crying like that?” he suggested. “Not particularly.” Jim looked out the window as he spoke.