familiarly and unannounced, his humble dwelling. Errington waved his
many compliments good-humoredly aside, and allowed himself and his
friends to be marshalled into the best parlor, the drawing-room of
the house, a pretty little apartment whose window looked out upon a
tangled yet graceful wilderness of flowers.

"Nice, cosy place this," remarked Lorimer, as he seated himself
negligently on the arm of the sofa. "You must be pretty comfortable
here?"

Their perspiring and affable host rubbed his soft white hands
together gently.

"I thank Heaven it suits my simple needs," he answered meekly.
"Luxuries do not become a poor servant of God."

"Ah, then you are different to many others who profess to serve the
same Master," said Duprez with a sourire fin that had the devil's
own mockery in it. "Monsieur le bon Dieu is very impartial! Some
serve Him by constant over-feeding, others by constant over-
starving; it is all one to Him apparently! How do you know which
among His servants He likes best, the fat or the lean?"

Sandy Macfarlane, though slightly a bigot for his own form of
doctrine, broke into a low chuckle of irrepressible laughter at
Duprez's levity, but Mr. Dyceworthy's flabby face betokened the
utmost horror.

"Sir," he said gravely, "there are subjects concerning which it is
not seemly to speak without due reverence. He knoweth His own elect.