amazed him as did this. And too, though there had been occasions
when silence or an evasion would have meant bread to him, the
temptation to both was never so strong as at that moment. It cost
St. George an effort, which he was afterward glad to remember having
made, to turn to Mrs. Manners, who had that air of appointing
committees and announcing the programme by which we always recognize
a leader, and try to explain.

"I am afraid," St. George said as they reached the stairs, "that you
have mistaken me, Mrs. Manners. I am not--"

"Pray, pray do not mention it," cried Mrs. Manners, shaking her
little lamp-shade of a hat at him, "we make every allowance, and I
am sure that none will be necessary."

"But I am with the _Evening Sentinel_," St. George persisted, "I am
afraid that--"

"As if one's profession made any difference!" cried Mrs. Manners
warmly. "No, indeed, I perfectly understand. We all understand," she
assured him, going over some papers in one hand and preparing to
mount the stairs. "Indeed, we appreciate it," she murmured, "do we
not, Miss Utter?"

The little brown nut seemed to crack in a capacious smile.

"Indeed, indeed!" she said fervently, accenting her emphasis by
briefly-closed eyes.

"Hymn books. Now, have we hymn books enough?" plaintively broke in