The lay-brother who responded to Cicely’s summons on the bell was old, slow moving, kindly, but remote from daily affairs. He was probably inured to the coming of harassed people in hot haste to see one of the priests, and had learned to feel that haste was unnecessary, trouble but fleeting. “Father Morley is expecting someone; he told me to say that he could not see anyone but her till after dinner. Would you be her? Cicely Adair was the name,” the old brother said. “Yes. Father Morley told me to come at eleven,” replied Cicely. “It’s prompt you are,” commented the brother, raising his hand for Cis to listen to the slow striking of a clock. “Go into that parlor yonder, the third one down; the first two are occupied.” Cis obeyed, and found herself in a narrow room, longer than was in good proportion to its width, furnished in a strictly utilitarian manner. A table stood in the centre, its top inset with green leather, a drawer running its length. Three cane-seated straight chairs, and one cane-seated armchair constituted the furniture of the room; on one side of the wall was a copy of a Murillo Madonna with a pretty, blank face and too little chin; opposite to it an engraving of the then-reigning Pope. Father Morley did not keep Cis waiting five minutes; he had been awaiting her. He entered with a smile, gave her one sharp look, and held out his hand. “Good morning, my dear. You look better; I hope you are somewhat rested?” he said. “Yes, Father. I slept hard. Miss Braithwaite was very kind,” Cis said. “When was Miriam Braithwaite otherwise, I wonder!” Father Morley said. “Tell me exactly what you think of her house and of her.” “Oh, the house!” Cis regained something of her animation as she repeated the words. “It is the most beautiful, and at the same time the dearest house in the world! That library! Full of books!” “It surely is. Have you found out that ‘the library’ in many houses has no books in it?” Father Morley smiled at Cis as if he were sharing a pleasant bit of humor with her. “The Braithwaites have been book-lovers for generations. Well, and your hostess?” “She is wonderful,” cried Cis heartily. “She is the finest lady I ever saw, but she doesn’t bother about it one bit. She makes you feel as though she’d do anything, and not be afraid; she’s daring, as if she was riding a spirited horse, yet she is pious--well, I don’t know exactly how she is pious! As if she rode that horse of hers right up to heaven and nothing could stop her!” Father Morley flashed upon Cis a look which she could not understand; it was surprised and delighted.