"I used to know her two years ago. She was a charming young girl. I think possibly you and Miss Chelda would enjoy her acquaintance." "Chelda may, I assure you I shall not trouble myself about her. Here, Chelda--Chelda--come speak to Mr. Huntington. You're somewhere near, you young sly-boots, for I hear you." A tall, dark girl, with a graceful figure and an attractive if enigmatic face, came from the hall, and exchanged a calm "Good morning" with the clergyman. "Chelda, will you go call on the new Mrs. Mercer?" said Miss Gastonguay, abruptly. "I don't want to be bothered with her. I know too many girls now." "Do you wish me to go?" asked the young lady, addressing their caller, and narrowing her long liquid eyes as she spoke. "Of course he does," said Miss Gastonguay. "That is what he's here for. You only want to gain time to make up your mind. Will you go?" "Yes, I will, aunt." "Thank you," said Mr. Huntington, rising. "I do not think you will regret it." "I think we should be grateful to you," said the young lady. "There are few desirable people in Rossignol, and you would not call our attention to any one who would be undesirable." She spoke sweetly and smoothly, yet her tones flowed into her relative's ear with a hidden meaning. "Now what do you mean by that, Chelda?" she asked. Chelda glanced at their caller. He understood her, and he at once lost the contented, almost exalted expression that he had brought away from the Mercer mansion, and took on instead his usual one of slight moodiness. "She means," he said, hastily, "that my duties call me among a class of people with whom it would not be your good pleasure to associate." "And I am called the most radical woman in Rossignol!" said Miss Gastonguay. "Thank you, young ecclesiastic." "I referred to your niece, rather than to you," he said, with a bow. "Oh, Chelda,--yes, she is an aristocrat," said Miss Gastonguay. "It is born in her, she can't help it. You ought to understand her, in view of your former life. Come, now, do you love all those dirty mill hands and slovenly women you work among?" "I do not think we need discuss that point. There is duty to be considered as well as pleasure." "But if one can combine both," said Chelda; "it is possible." "The question is to know your duty," he replied. "It is our duty to be happy," said the young lady, blandly, yet with a certain boldness. The clergyman looked straight into her eyes. They were wide open. Their usual filmy appearance was gone. What he saw seemed to fascinate and yet repel him, for with his hands he made a gesture as if he would be gone, yet his feet still lingered. Miss Gastonguay's abrupt voice disenchanted him. "Come back to lunch, Mr. Huntington. I daresay you are taking your Monday walk in this direction." He started slightly. "I am, yet I thought of returning to my study."