He looked at her a little curiously. For a moment he almost seemed puzzled. Then he pressed her hand and asked tenderly, “Why not?” And in a half-audible aside he added, “That’s the correct move, I think.” “What did you say?” she asked. “I said, ‘Why not?’ ” he answered, with increasing tenderness. “But you said something else.” “I added a brief prayer for pity.” Lady Alicia sighed and repeated a little less firmly. “It wouldn’t be right of me, Mr Beveridge.” “But what would be wrong?” This was said with even more fervour. “My conscience—we are very particular, you know.” “Who are ‘we’?” “Papa is _very_ strict High Church.” An idea seemed to strike Mr Beveridge, for he ruminated in silence. “I asked Mr Candles—our curate, you know,” Lady Alicia continued, with a heroic effort to make her position clear. “You told him!” he exclaimed. “Oh, I didn’t say who it was—I mean what it was I thought of doing—I mean the temptation—that is, the possibility. And he said it was very kind of me to think of it; but I mustn’t do anything, and he advised me to read a book he gave me, and—and I mustn’t think of it, really, Mr Beveridge.” To himself Mr Beveridge repeated under his breath, “Archbishops, bishops, deacons, curates, fast in Lent, and an anthem after the Creed. I think I remember enough to pass.” Then he assumed a very serious face, and said aloud, “Your scruples do your heart credit. They have given me an insight into your deep and sweet character, which emboldens me to make a confession.” He stopped skating, folded his arms, and continued unblushingly, “I was educated for the Church, but the prejudices of my parents, the immature scepticism of youth, and some uncertainty about obtaining my archbishopric, induced me in an unfortunate moment, which I never ceased to bitterly regret, to quit my orders.” “You are in orders?” she exclaimed. “I was in several. I cancelled them, and entered the Navy instead.” “The Navy?” she asked, excusably bewildered by these rapid changes of occupation. “For five years I was never ashore.” “But,” she hesitated—“but you said you were in the Army.” Mr Beveridge gave her a look full of benignant compassion that made her, she did not quite know why, feel terribly abashed. “My regiment was quartered at sea,” he condescended to explain. “But in time my conscience awoke. I announced my intention of resuming my charge. My uncle was furious. My enemies were many. I was seized, thrown into this prison-house, and now my only friend fails me.” They were both silent. She ventured once to glance up at his face, and it seemed to her that his eyes were moist—though perhaps it was that her own were a little dim. “Let us skate on,” he said abruptly, with a fine air of resignation. “By the way,” he suddenly added, “I was extremely High Church, in fact almost freezingly high.” For five minutes they skated in silence, then Lady Alicia began softly, “Supposing you—you went away——”