She had finished taking the daily grist of replies. Dr. Willard was sitting in his chair, his feet on the hassock that stood always before it, looking at her in a way he had to which she could not grow accustomed. Probably he was not thinking of her at all--was mentally selecting the task of next importance. Yet she had grown more than usually restive under his agate-eyed, considering gaze when the beautifully covered top-tones of a soprano voice floated to them from the floor above. “_Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom._ _Lead thou me on...._” “Ah!” Dr. Willard repeated his smile. “The members of the music committee are having their innings.” “Their innings, doctor?” “They are holding try-outs for a new soprano. I expect they’ll have difficulty finding one to suit. You like that floating quality? It is sort of seraphic. But, dear me, there are so many requirements other than the voice to fill this position, which is probably _the_ highest-paid for a church soloist in Greater New York. The committee has heard this young woman several times and all agree with me except Deacon Brill. He’s the only thorn in my flesh on the board.” “He does seem to feel a natural antipathy toward you,” Dolores sympathized. “Very natural.” Again that peculiarly indulgent smile. “As he is the central pillar of the church, I try not to collide with him. You see, he has taken this singer--a good-looking girl in addition to her vocal charms--out to dinner. He says she won’t do.” “Won’t do--and because he took her out to dinner?” Before Dr. Willard could explain, his private telephone rang. “You at last, my child!” he answered close to the mouthpiece. “So, he’s broken out again? I am disappointed.... These attacks must be curbed in some way.... Always here when you need my advice.... Hum-m.... The sooner the better.” On hanging up the receiver, he turned with his invariable kindness to Dolores. “It is time you take another of those walks along the Drive that bring the roses into your cheeks. I have an important conference. Stay out in the air an hour or more.” The girl put on her hat and coat. Although she suspected that these absences were not suggested entirely on her account, she was grateful for the half of a thought which made them serve two purposes. As one way of showing her appreciation, she tried always to time her strolls to his convenience rather than her own--to return not too late for the performance of her duties, nor soon enough to interrupt the “conferences” continually held with handsomely gowned women of the congregation. Never did she reënter the study until the limousine or touring car which had brought the visitor of the hour had purred away from the side door. To-day she found the parkway paths delightful. A tinge of winter in the air showed in the white breath of the river craft scudding along against the tide. They always seemed a moral to Dolores, those boats scudding along against the tide.