'I'll see what I can do.'

'But, Lady Constantine,' cried the amazed astronomer, 'an equatorial
such as I describe costs as much as two grand pianos!'

She was rather staggered at this news; but she rallied gallantly,
and said, 'Never mind. I'll make inquiries.'

'But it could not be put on the tower without people seeing it! It
would have to be fixed to the masonry. And there must be a dome of
some kind to keep off the rain. A tarpaulin might do.'

Lady Constantine reflected. 'It would be a great business, I see,'
she said. 'Though as far as the fixing and roofing go, I would of
course consent to your doing what you liked with the old column. My
workmen could fix it, could they not?'

'O yes. But what would Sir Blount say, if he came home and saw the
goings on?'

Lady Constantine turned aside to hide a sudden displacement of blood
from her cheek. 'Ah--my husband!' she whispered. . . . 'I am just
now going to church,' she added in a repressed and hurried tone. 'I
will think of this matter.'

In church it was with Lady Constantine as with the Lord Angelo of
Vienna in a similar situation--Heaven had her empty words only, and
her invention heard not her tongue. She soon recovered from the
momentary consternation into which she had fallen at Swithin's
abrupt query. The possibility of that young astronomer becoming a