The talk down-stairs concerned dances, picnics, fishing parties. The somnolent Molly awoke, languor fell from her and she stepped to the centre of the gay little whirl, the embodied spirit of festivity. Mr. Henderson, incongruous element, was there, too, with deliberate election it would seem, for Molly's eyes did no inviting or encouraging. She did not need him in capacity of attendant or diverter these days, and it was clear that in any other capacity he embarrassed her. But he was not deterred because of that. "You are coming to church, remember," he told her on Sunday morning. Molly did not even play at archness with him now; she looked timid. And at the hour she went, and Alexina with her. They had heard him officiate before, and it seemed the mere performance of the law; but into the dogmatic assertions of his discourse to-day glowed that fire which is called inspiration. The Reverend Henderson was living these days. Molly, slim and elegant in her finery, moved once or twice in the pew. Alexina could not quite tell if she was listening. But she was. "Dear me," she said, from under the shadow of her lace parasol, as they walked home, "how wearing it must be to be so--er--intense." She spoke lightly, but she shivered a little. The Reverend Henderson had laid stress upon his text, "In the midst of life we are in death!" As they went up the hotel steps Molly turned and looked around her and Alexina turned too, since it was Molly's mood. The sky was blue, the air breathed with life and glow and sparkle. There was a taste almost of sea about it. On the prim young orange trees about the new houses across the street the fruit hung golden. "He used to reach them for me--Father Bonot did," said Molly, slowly, "before I was tall enough. They're sweeter--Louisiana oranges are. I used to run and hide behind his skirts, too, when I was afraid my mother was going to whip me." They went in. Half way up the stairs Molly paused. "You Blairs, you're all like _him_--not like Father Bonot." "Like who?" asked Alexina. "Like Mr. Henderson. You Blairs and Mr. Henderson would have pulled aside your skirts so my mother could have caught me and whipped me." Something like apprehension sprang into Alexina's eyes. "Oh," she said anxiously, "no; surely I'm not like that, and Aunt Harriet's not!" "Yes, you are," said Molly stubbornly, "you all of you are. It's because"--a sort of childish rage seized on her--"it's because you're all of you so--so damnably sure of your duty." And Molly's foot stamped the landing in her little fury. It was funny, so funny that Alexina laughed. And perhaps it was true. She could have hugged Molly; she never came so near to being fond of Molly before. * * * * *