The Oratory this time, large and massive; it felt very grey and cold after the convent chapel. A short Mass and no music—Henry Brand was avowedly a Protestant, but had no fixed belief. There were strangers in the congregation. Some one sobbing—why should Sister Veronica cry? Distractions pouring in; Evelyn pondered as to the meaning of certain directions given her by her confessor; she wondered if she would be allowed to visit the different altars of the church after the ceremony; she noticed a brilliant feather in a lady’s hat; for the first time she felt a little shy and lonely. She wished that every one would not look at her; there were some pretty people to look at! She hoped she would be happy; she thought how nice it would be to be married, to have a man—even if his back were not quite straight—to go about with, instead of a mere nun. In future she would be able to wear nice clothes, to move freely in the world, to read what she liked, and be taken to public places where she might even meet some of the people she had crowned with laurels—Chamberlain, Curzon, Kitchener. How wicked she was! She shut her eyes and knelt up very straight, practising every art she knew against the onslaught of distraction. Above the altar was a picture of the Blessed Virgin and the Eternal Father, painted by a French father of the community, after a design by Sebastian Concha of Turin. She looked from it to the cartouche above, the gilt heart surrounded by rays; then on again to the central picture. Little, forgotten stories of St. Philip Neri came back to her; little, forgotten maxims. She remembered how, on one occasion, a rich noble had come to St. Philip, full of his worldly plans and ambitions. The saint had listened patiently to the confidences, as was his habit. But at the end—"And then?" ... he asked. Her dreams of happiness, her hopes of success, both seemed to sweep her towards the mysterious shore of marriage—that Sacrament which Catholics approach with prayer and fasting. So far so good. But—then? ... The church faded; she was lost in the whirl and confusion of amused spectators, who pelted her with rose leaves and confetti, praising her beauty till she blushed. She drove off with her husband, still half-intoxicated with excitement. Then came a picture to which she shut her eyes, the first of a long series, blackening with time. *CHAPTER III* "They should take who have the power." Martin Calvert was a business man, pure and simple. But he had withal a certain clairvoyance which enabled him to detect in others such qualities as would produce the most marketable and satisfactory results.