She was dressed in a garb which would have befitted a postulant for a religious order, and her sweet seriousness, and altogether becoming demeanour, charmed the Reverend Reginald. The old parson was, it is needless to say, a thorough nonentity, and the skilful attentions of his fair assistant were the more appreciated, because the more rare. "It's very kind of you, my dear," he said, "to give so much of your time to helping an old man." "I'm afraid I don't give up half enough. I think we should give ourselves to the serious side of life at least for a little while every week, don't you? We are so apt to devote ourselves to frivolities." "I'm very glad to hear you say that. Young people are none too serious nowadays; but I'm sure you're too strong a nature to be wholly frivolous." "I'm afraid not, but I often do things I don't care for, to keep myself from thinking. My life hasn't been all a bed of roses, Mr. Lambert." "You surprise me," he said, sitting down in the front pew to get a better view of their united arrangement of potted plants. "That's very pretty, my dear. Now come and sit by me, and tell me all about it, and if an old man's advice----" "Oh, I _do_ so want advice," she said. "You can't realise what the life I lead means to a girl--my parents are both dead, you know." "Yes, poor child. I remember; Mrs. Roberts told me. How sad!" "I've no settled home-- I knock about. I try my best, I do indeed, Mr. Lambert; but with no one to advise me--no older woman than myself who really cares--it is at times very hard." "But you've relatives--Mrs. Roberts." "Yes, of course, they're very kind, and all that; but a young girl needs far more than what she could ask of a remote relative. She needs watchful care, constant protection. You've had a daughter, Mr. Lambert." "Yes, yes, I know. My dear Mary was a model girl, Miss Fitzgerald; a good child is a great blessing. I see your position." "I'm sure you do. Try as one may, a young girl has not that experience which comes with age, her best efforts are sometimes misinterpreted-- I've suffered keenly myself." "My poor child," said the old rector, patting her hand in a fatherly manner. "My poor child! You yourself see the need of a guiding hand." "I do, I do. Having no one to fight life's battle for me, I've become of necessity self-reliant." "Of course, of course." "It has been misinterpreted, misunderstood. I've been called--hard; worse-- I've been thought----" Her voice broke. "My dear child," said the old man, "you'll forgive my speaking plainly, but you should be married. You need a husband. Someone who will take the responsibility from you." Miss Fitzgerald breathed a contented little sigh, and her bowed head leaned, oh, so lightly, against his shoulder! "I hoped you would say that," she murmured. "Is there someone--then--someone you love? You rejoice me exceedingly." Resuming a more erect posture, she said earnestly: