"Yes, I insist----" as the prelate protested--"it won't hurt you, it's quite light. And here comes your favourite sweet--ordered expressly for you." The worn face cleared, and he smiled, touched by the other's kindly thought. "I'm always spoilt in this house," he said, "and I'm afraid that the shocking result is that I take advantage of it, and come too often to loosen my pack of worries here. What can the Sleeping Beauty think of all this dreary business talk?" He looked across wistfully at Cydonia's lovely face, with next to it the virile contrast of her dark-haired, handsome friend. Only too well he realized the heavy burden of the years and the narrowing road ahead where he must pass with lonely feet. Death he feared not. For the Faith he had long preached was indeed his own. Yet the human in him shrank, faced with the decay of power. Cydonia's soft brown eyes met his with a child's affection. His question cut across her dreams. "I?" she hesitated, smiling. "Oh! I like to hear of things." McTaggart, watching her, caught into his memory an elusive dimple, near the fresh young mouth. Following up the train of thought provoked by this miracle, he heard the doctor's voice once more, with a note of mischief, in his ears. "Not married, are you, Mr. McTaggart? Well--you'd better take care ... a fair wife and a dark one..." He was certain, then and there, that his "Scotch heart" lay in Cydonia's hands. He watched them now, with a languid grace remove the velvety skin of a peach. The faint colour of the fruit was not more fair than her little pink nails. But swift on the thought came a vision of Fantine--mischievous, provocative, tingling with life; of dark-fringed eyes and full red lips, and honey-coloured fingers that flashed in quick gesture matching each turn of her gay clipped speech. He thrust aside the picture, half-angrily; conscious of the atmosphere that hung about the Cadells' house, vaguely ecclesiastic and super-refined. The intrusion of Fantine seemed almost profane, the contrast too crude between this sheltered home and the gilded, over-lighted flat. He could see the long rooms with the doors flung wide and the ever-changing brilliant crowd, elbowing each other round the green table with the piled-up stakes and fluttering cards. He could feel once more the strain that hung in the air, the excitement of the lust for gain, the grasping hands and greedy eyes... "A penny for your thoughts?" He gave a guilty start. Cydonia was watching him with childish curiosity. "Impossible--the price is too high!" He answered her lightly but his face was grave. "I believe you've gone back to that velvet cap? You looked so solemn. It must be that!" "More likely I was harassed with this cruel suspense." He leaned a little nearer and lowered his voice. "You _are_ going to help us? Tell me, don't you want to?--You've no idea how anxious I am that you should take the part."