"Now that Henry has so much in his power, you must keep on the best of terms with him. Get him to come and see us as often as you can. Why not ask him to dine with us on Sunday next? He could stay until required at the office." "Not much use of that, I fancy; Saturday is about the only day he is likely to come." "Nonsense! Sunday should suit as well," with a touch of impatience. "But you must remember, Flo, that Henry isn't like us. Unless he has changed more than I know, there is a big chunk of the go-to-meeting young man left in him; you never know when you may bump up against some of his religious principles. You remember that he used to go to church with as much pleasure as an ordinary chap goes to a music-hall. In fact, he did the thing as easily as take his dinner." "Yes, yes; but he is getting over those narrow-minded country ways." "Perhaps you are right. You don't find much of that antiquated religious nonsense among us gentlemen of the Press--hem, hem!--Henry's is the only case of the kind that I have seen. But there is hope for him yet," and Edgar laughed heartily at his own wit, while Flo rewarded him with a smile as she pushed home the one point she wished to make. "Then you think you may be able to induce him to spend Sunday with us?" "I'll do my best. Can't say more. Usual dinner hour, I suppose?" "Two o'clock. That gives him time for forenoon church--if he really must go." Much to Edgar's surprise, and more to his satisfaction, the editor of the _Leader_ consented with unusual readiness to honour the Wintons the following Sunday, and when the day came Henry was not at the forenoon service. He was not even annoyed at himself for having lain abed too long. His mind was filled with thoughts of the importance he had suddenly assumed in the eyes of many who had previously seemed unaware of his existence. Even the church folk, among whom he had moved for years almost unfriended, were now curiously interested in him, and the vicar had done him the remarkable honour of inviting him to dinner to meet several gentlemen prominent in the religious and social life of the city, an invitation which it had given Henry a malicious pleasure to refuse, as the memory of his cold entrances and exits through the door of Holy Trinity contrasted frigidly with this unfamiliar friendliness.