"I have met nearly all the young ladies, but only two of the gentlemen--Mr. Voltaire and Mr. Kaffar. I saw them on the Continent." "Indeed?" I said, while I have no doubt a dark look passed over my face. "Do you not like them?" she asked. "I do not know enough of either," I replied, "to give an answer reasonably, either in the affirmative or the negative. I think my failing is to form hasty judgments concerning people, which, of course, cannot be fair." I said this rather stammeringly, while she watched me keenly. "That means that you do not like them," she said. "Are you quite justified in saying that?" I replied, scarcely knowing what else to say. "Quite," she said. "You feel towards them just as I do. I was introduced to them in Berlin. Mr. Tom Temple had formed their acquaintance somehow, and seemed wonderfully fascinated by them. I scarcely spoke to them, however, as I left Germany the next day, and was rather surprised to see them here last night." "Mr. Voltaire is a very fascinating man," I suggested. "There can be no doubt about that," was her reply. "And yet I fancy much of his high-flown talk about spiritualism was mere imagination." "I was inclined to think so at first, but I have heard strange things about him. However, it is perhaps scarcely fair to talk about him thus." All this time we had stood looking out of the window upon the wintry landscape, and I, at least, was oblivious to all else but the fact that I was talking with the woman whose interest for me was paramount, when a lump of coal fell from the grate upon the fire-irons. We both turned, and saw Herod Voltaire standing by a bookcase with an open volume in his hand. A disinterested person might have fancied he had not heard a word of our conversation, but I was sure I saw a steely glitter in his eyes, and a cruel smile playing around his mouth. "Then you go to church this morning?" I said, seeking to turn the conversation as naturally as I could. "Yes, I always do on Christmas morning," she replied, as if thankful I had given her an opportunity of speaking about other matters. "Then I hope I shall have the pleasure of escorting you," I replied. Ordinarily I should not have dared to mention such a matter to a lady I had seen so little of, but the request slipped out unthinkingly; and she, no doubt confused by the presence of Voltaire, cheerfully assented. Our embarrassment came to an end just then, for several others came into the room, and the conversation became general. As the reader may guess, I was highly elated at the turn matters were taking, and in my heart I began to laugh at Voltaire's idea of winning Gertrude Forrest. Moreover, she had willingly consented to walk to church with me, and had expressed a dislike for the man I, in spite of myself, was beginning to fear.