It was Mrs. Wilson who was the immediate means of bringing about an understanding between Maurice and Berenice. Mrs. Wilson was never so occupied that she was not able to attend to any new thing which might turn up, and her interest in the spring races did not prevent her from having a hand in the affairs of the lovers. While she was in town attending to the luncheon for Marion Delegass she dined with Mrs. Staggchase, and Maurice took her down. "I understand that you are a renegade," she remarked vivaciously as soon as they were seated. "I wonder you dare look me in the face." "Because you are the church?" he demanded. "Certainly not now that that Strathmore is bishop," she retorted, tossing her head. "However, I always said that you were too good to be wasted in a cassock." "Thank you. What would you say if I made such a reflection on the clergy?" "Oh, I've no patience with the clergy!" she declared. "They bore me to death. There's that solemn-faced friend of yours, Mr. Ashe--his name ought to be Ashes!--he actually lectured me on my worldliness! _My_ worldliness, if you please, and I working myself to a shadow for the election of Father Frontford!" "He has imagination, you see," Maurice suggested, smiling. "Now you are sneering, Mr. Wynne. I shall talk to the man on the other side." She was good as her word, and left Maurice to devote himself to the lady on his right. He had the American adaptability, and a couple of months had sufficed to make him reasonably at ease at a dinner. The continuous delight he felt in his freedom, moreover, inspired him with an inclination to be frank and communicative, so that if he did not talk like the conventional man of the world, he managed not to sit silent. His neighbor to-night was Mrs. Thayer Kent, and he chatted easily with her about the West, where for a couple of years she had been living on a ranch. Something in Mrs. Kent's talk reminded him of Berenice, and he sighed inwardly that the latter's mourning prevented her from going out. As if the thought had been spoken aloud, Mrs. Wilson recalled herself to his attention by saying in his ear:-- "It is such a pity Berenice Morison isn't here. Have you seen her since the Mardi Gras ball?" "Yes," he answered, turning quickly, and vexed to feel himself flush. "I saw her yesterday at the consecration." "Did you go? How immoral! I stayed at home and gave a luncheon for Marion Delegass." "So I heard; but everybody hadn't such a moral thing as that to do." "Oh, no; very likely not. By the way, you have never apologized for deserting me in the middle of the service that night." "I had to take care of that girl. She fainted." "Oh, you did? Who was she? What did you do with her? However, I don't care. It's none of my business. I wonder, though, what sort of a story you'd have told Berenice if she'd been there."