She smiled, shook hands and followed him, with a word of parting, to the door. Then as soon as it was shut upon him, she stamped her foot and walked across the room, with an exclamation of impatience. “I wonder what kind of a fool he is going to make of himself!” She soon saw. One is not a woman of sense for nothing. On the eve of the Festival, which was being held for the purpose of raising funds for the restoration of the old Abbey church, of which the Canon was rector, he gave a consecrating dinner-party. The Bishop of the diocese, who was staying at the Rectory, was there; Sir Joshua and Lady Santyre, and others of the high and solemn world of Fulminster. Yet the Canon, with a high-bred tact, delicately conveyed the impression that Madame Latour was the guest of the evening. Mrs. Winstanley kept eyes and ears on the alert. There was much talk of the Festival. On the morrow the “Elijah” was to be given, with Madame Latour in the contralto part. The Canon was solicitous as to her voice, beamed with pleasure when she offered, in her sweet, simple way to sing to his guests, and stood behind her as she sung, with what, in Mrs. Winstanley’s eyes, appeared an exasperating expression of fatuity. A little later in the evening, a young girl, Sophia Wilmington, went up to him with the charming insolence of youth. “Why did n’t you tell us she was so sweet? I ’ve fallen head over ears in love with her.” The Canon smiled, bowed, and delivered himself of this extraordinary speech:-- “My dear Sophia, next to falling in love with me, myself, you could not give me greater pleasure.” “She is so lovely,” said the girl. “A chance for a medallion,” said the Canon. Miss Wilmington had a pretty taste in medallion painting. “Oh, I couldn’t get her colouring; but I should love to try--and her voice. To me, any one with a gift like that seems above ordinary mortals. You see I am quite ready to worship your angel.” “My angel?” said the Canon, sharply. Mrs. Winstanley, who was close by, discussing the Engadine with the Bishop, did not lose a word of the above conversation. At his last exclamation, she shot a swift side glance which caught the momentary confusion and flush on the Canon’s face. She was quite certain now of the sort of fool he was going to make of himself. Meanwhile, the girl broke into a gay laugh. “It did sound funny. I meant the angel in the ‘Elijah.’” “Oh,” said the Canon, “I was forgetting the ‘Elijah.’” Mrs. Winstanley resolved at least to say a warning word. Before she left, she managed to have a few words with him. “I hope you are keeping your eyes very wide open, Everard,” she said, in a whisper. The Canon took her literally and so regarded her. But she smiled and put her hand on his sleeve. “She is quite charming and all of that, I grant. But she is very much deeper than she looks.” “Really, my dear Emmeline--” he began, drawing himself up.