Addie Marchmont found work of any kind, even preparation for the Christmas festival, stupid and tiresome; therefore she welcomed the diversion of Harcourt's coming with double zest; and with extravagant exclamations of delight summoned him to her side. Miss Martell stood at some distance, and had turned her back towards them. Harcourt did not see her at first, but the quest of his restless eyes indicated his hope that she was there. In the mean time he laughed and jested with Addie in something of his old-time style. Lottie Marsden, like many of her young American sisters, could be decidedly pronounced at times; but a certain amount of grace and good taste characterized her manner. Addie had never been taught restraint of any kind, and to her a church was just the place for a little wild nonsense, and all present were compelled to feel that both her words and manner went beyond the limits of good taste, to say the least. To Harcourt, in his present state of mind, they were so annoying as to be almost offensive, and, thinking that Miss Martell was not present, he was about to leave the church in order to escape. But Miss Martell, with her back towards them, had no means of knowing that Harcourt was not encouraging Addie, and that her freedom with him was not warranted by their relations. "I have an engagement," said Harcourt, abruptly; and he was about to hasten away, when between intervening groups his eye caught a glimpse of a figure rising for a moment out of one of the high-backed pews, and suggesting to him the object of his thoughts. As he stepped over to speak to Lottie, his eye lingered in that direction. Instead of going directly out, he strolled to the farther end of the audience room, speaking and bowing to one and another, but not permitting his eyes to wander long from the bent figure of a lady who sat with her back towards him, apparently wholly absorbed in wreathing evergreens. She felt that he was coming towards her,--she heard his voice, and soon knew that his eyes were scanning her downcast face,--but she would not look up till he spoke. "Won't you deign me even a glance, Miss Martell?" he asked. The color deepened somewhat in her cheeks, but she looked him full in the face, and said quietly, "Why use the word 'deign,' Mr. Harcourt?" "I suppose because my conscience suggests that from you I deserve glances of dis-dain." "Such 'glances' are not becoming from any one, and certainly not from me. Besides," she added, a little bitterly, at the thought of such a brainless, frivolous girl as Addie Marchmont enchaining a man like Harcourt, "people do not get their deserts in this world." "You certainly will not." "How is that?" she asked quickly, not taking his meaning, "The world is not rich enough to give it you." Her brow contracted into a sudden frown, and she said, a trifle coldly, "I do not enjoy that style of compliment, Mr. Harcourt." "Is there any that you do enjoy?"