Her arms fell. She drew back, dispirited. "Forgive me,--oh, forgive me!"
she murmured miserably.

He turned back to his writing-table, still frowning. "I was not aware
that I had anything to forgive," he said. "But if you think so,--" he
shrugged his shoulders, beginning already to turn the pages of his
masterpiece--"my forgiveness is yours. I wonder if you would care to
divert your thoughts from what I am sure you will admit to be a purely
selfish channel by listening to a portion of this Advent sermon."

"What is it about?" asked Mrs. Lorimer, hesitating.

"My theme," said the Reverend Stephen, "is the awful doom that awaits
the unrepentant sinner."

There was a moment's silence, and then Mrs. Lorimer did an extraordinary
thing. She turned from him and walked to the door.

"Thank you very much, Stephen," she said, and she spoke with decision
albeit her voice was not wholly steady. "But I don't feel that that kind
of diversion would do me much good. I think I shall run up to the nursery
and see Baby Phil have his bath."

She was gone; but so noiselessly that Mr. Lorimer, turning in his chair
to rebuke her frivolity, found himself addressing the closed door.

He turned back again with a heavy sigh. There seemed to be some
disturbing element at work. Time had been when she had deemed it her
dearest privilege to sit and listen to his sermons. He could not
understand her refusal of an offer that ought to have delighted her. He