His eyes were upon her, and though his face remained properly grave and in keeping with a Presbyterian service, gay greeting flashed from his eyes to her, and Doris-- Well, it was more than human frailty could stand. She smiled, and then she blushed, and could not keep her eyes away from that serene provoking face, though she did try desperately and was ashamed of herself all the time. Father was doing splendidly--she was subconsciously aware of that, and was so proud of him. It had never before been quite so imperatively necessary that he "do well." Rosalie looked very sweet and dignified, altogether in keeping with a manse and a church, and not a bit frivolous as she had at the Country Club da--party--that was a comfort. She was sorry she could not point out Treasure and Zee to him also, they did look so spiritual and fine in their Sunday clothes--it was really once in a lifetime to designate them as manse material. He seemed to be paying close attention to father-- Whoever in the world could he be? And there came Deacon Fenton, sure enough--with his usual prejudice against the first point--and he got very red in the face, but the Exasperating Thing smiled pleasantly and shoved along in the seat, and settled down where he could see father when he looked at the pulpit, and could see Doris when he looked at the choir loft, and--Doris openly and deliberately nudged her sister. The Exasperating Thing lowered his eyes at her reprovingly, but Doris could not resist. "Who is that in Deacon Fenton's pew?" she whispered. Rosalie looked that way unconcernedly--she did not seem to notice how romantic and curious and compelling he was--and shook her head. Doris subsided then, but when she came down from the choir loft and found him waiting for her at the side entrance, she was glad. She held out her hand. "Rosalie did not know you either," she said. "I asked her. Will you come and meet father?" "Sorry, but not to-day. It would spoil the mystery. Come along with me, Little Seeker After Thrills, I want to walk home with you. I go your very way." "I usually stay and shake hands with the members, but it will be fun to slip away for once. Then they will be gladder to see me to-night." So they hurried away, and Doris noticed that while many nodded to her, no one had a word of familiar friendliness for him--so she knew he was a stranger to all. It seemed odd that he could remain unknown in such a little town--he must live very quietly and to himself. He could not be a teacher, she was sure of that, for teachers, like "we preachers," are honor bound to make friends. "Has the butterfly of the fold been in any new mischief since the dance?" "Call it a party. We preachers do not go to dances. No, indeed, she hasn't. Didn't you notice how sensible she looked this morning? She is really very good, if she only takes time to think. She decided of her own accord and free will not to dance any more at all."