Mrs. Ernest was short, comfortably stout, a little bent. She had been pretty, and she was growing grey. She was almost always tired, and with good reason. Mr. Ernest was not even a Vicar, and, truth to tell, she had ceased to hope that he ever would be. "Still working, Madeline?" "Yes, mother. I must finish this. Ethel always sends me something and I must remember her." "Have you put the clean things away?" "No. I'm so sorry. I'll go at once. I forgot all about them." "Never mind. Sit down a minute. Madeline, have you heard about Paul?" "What, mother?" Madeline bent earnestly over her work. "He's written a book of poems and it's going to be published early next year. Mrs. Kestern told me this afternoon." "Mother! You don't say so. How splendid!" The girl flushed with genuine pleasure and excitement. "Yes, dear. He is clever, is Paul. I expect he'll do great things one day." The eyes of mother and daughter met. "I always thought so," said Madeline. Mrs. Ernest sat down in an arm-chair, and reached for her work-basket. She opened it with a little sigh. There were always socks or stockings in it, and no more than her daughter did she like mending them. She threaded her needle, and fitted the wooden heel into a sock. "Father had a talk with Mr. Kestern this morning," she said, vaguely. Madeline straightened out her work. "Yes?" she queried, critically, as if to the blouse. "Yes. Mr. Kestern is troubled about Paul." "Really? Why?" "He's getting High Church." "Well, what about it? I like things a bit higher than father and Mr. Kestern myself." "I know. You are so musical. I wish Tom didn't wear out his socks quite so fast. But Paul's getting very High Church." "Very?" Madeline looked up meditatively. "Yes, very. Of course your father would not wish you to know anything. Mr. Kestern told him privately. He's very worried about it." "It's that Father Vassall," said Madeline. "How do you know about Father Vassall?" "Paul told me. He likes him very much." "Well, I'm sure it would be too dreadful for the Kesterns if Paul became a Roman Catholic." "It won't matter much if he's a poet." "Madeline! It would. I'm sure Roman Catholicism is very dreadful--there's the confessional. Though I must say it's worse for a woman than a man. And the Pope too. But that's the point. Suppose Paul became a priest. They'll get him if they can. Jesuits always try for clever young men." Madeline laughed. "Mother! As if Paul would be a Roman Catholic priest!" "Why not? Father says he would not be surprised." "Well, I should. Paul! He's so very evangelical." "I know. But----" (There was a little pause.) "Madeline, does he see much of that girl, Edith Thornton?" The girl put down her work and looked into the fire. She was silent. "Oh, I don't know," she exclaimed suddenly.