"You talk too much to be a dream, my boy," laughed Errington, and
turning to Mr. Dyceworthy, he added, "I'm afraid you must think us a
shocking set. We are really none of us very religious, I fear,
though," and he tried to look serious; "if it had not been for Mr.
Lorimer, we should have come to church last Sunday. Mr. Lorimer was,
unfortunately, rather indisposed."

"Ya-as!" drawled that gentleman, turning from the little window
where he had been gathering a rose for his button-hole. "I was
knocked up; had fits, and all that sort of thing; took these three
fellows all their time on Sunday to hold me down!"

"Dear me!" and Mr. Dyceworthy was about to make further inquiries
concerning Mr. Lorimer's present state of health, when the door
opened, and Ulrika entered, bearing a large tray laden with wine and
other refreshments. As she set it down, she gave a keen, covert
glance round the room, as though rapidly taking note of the
appearance and faces of all the young men, then, with a sort of
stiff curtsey, she departed as noiselessly as she had come,--not,
however, without leaving a disagreeable impression on Errington's
mind.

"Rather a stern Phyllis, that waiting-maid of yours," he remarked,
watching his host, who was carefully drawing the cork from one of
the bottles of wine.

Mr. Dyceworthy smiled. "Oh, no, no! not stern at all," he answered
sweetly. "On the contrary, most affable and kind-hearted. Her only
fault is that she is a little zealous,--over-zealous for the purity