by a carved mantel, upon which stood two gilt candelabra and a black statuette. The walls 11 were burdened by scarce a single picture, and the red curtains at the windows were only half-drawn. On looking in, the impression given was one of luxury and of artistic refinement, an ideal room for a winter’s night, a place for retirement, peace and repose.

Mrs. Swinton sat in her own particular chair by the fireside—a most comfortable tub of a chair—and reclined with her feet outstretched upon a stool, smoking a cigarette. Her graceful head was thrown back, and, as she toyed with the cigarette, displaying the arm of a girl and a figure slim and youthful, it was difficult to believe that this woman could be the mother of a grown son and daughter. Her brown hair, which had a glint of gold in it, was carefully dressed, and crowned with a thin circlet of diamonds. Her shapely little head was poised upon a long, white throat rising from queenly shoulders. She looked very tall as she lounged thus with her feet extended and her head thrown back, watching the smoke curl from her full, red lips.

Opposite her, deep in an armchair, and scarcely visible behind a large fashion journal, sat Netty Swinton, her daughter, a girl of nineteen, a mere slip of a woman. The pet name for Netty was, “The Persian,” because she somewhat resembled a Persian cat in her ways, always choosing the warmest and most comfortable chairs, and curling up on sofas, 12 quite content to be quiet, only asking to be left alone and caressed at rare intervals by highly-esteemed persons.

From the ladies’ gowns, it was obvious that they were going somewhere; and, by the rector’s ruffled hair and shabby smoking-jacket, that he would be staying at home, busy over money affairs—the eternal worry of this household.

The rector was even now struggling with his accounts.

The clever man seemed to be a fool before the realities of life as set down in numerals. As a young man, he had been a prodigy. People then spoke of him as a future bishop, and he filled fashionable churches of the city with the best in the land. They came to hear his sensational sermons, and they patted him on the back approvingly in their drawing-rooms. He was immensely popular. Perhaps his wonderful masculine beauty was responsible for much of the interest he excited. It certainly captivated Mary Herresford, a girl of nineteen, who was among those bewitched. She adored the young preacher, whom later she married secretly; and the red flame of their passionate love had never died down. The wealthy father of the bride had only forgiven them to the extent of presenting his daughter with the property on Riverside Drive, where they had since made their home, to the considerable inconvenience of the rector 13 himself. Soon after the marriage, John Swinton had taken the rectorship of St. Botolph’s, that great church planned for the betterment of the most hopeless slums. The clergyman’s admirers believed that this was but the beginning of magnificent achievements. On the contrary, the result threatened disaster to his good-standing before the world. The population of the parish grew in poverty, rather than in grace. The rector was a man of ideals, generous to a fault. His means were small; his bounty was great. The income enjoyed by his wife did not count. Old Herresford allowed his daughter only sufficient for her personal needs, which were, naturally, rather extravagant, for she had been reared and had lived always in the atmosphere of wealth.

Matters were further complicated by the fact that Mrs. Swinton, though she adored her husband, hated his parish cordially. She belonged to the aristocracy, and she had no thought of tearing herself from the life with which she was familiar, while her husband, on the contrary, doted on his parish and avoided, so far as he might, the company of the frivolous idlers who were his wife’s companions. Husband and wife, therefore, agreed to differ, and to be satisfied with love. After their son was born, the wife drifted back to her old life, and was a most welcome figure in the gayest society. Yet, no scandal was ever associated with her name, and none 14 sneered at her love for her husband. The rector, when he yielded to her persuasions and accompanied her on social excursions, was as welcome as she; and everybody proclaimed Mrs. Swinton a clever woman to be able to live two entirely-different lives at the same time, with neither overlapping. At forty, she was still young and beautiful, with a ripe maturity that only the tender crow’s feet about the corners of the eyes betrayed to the inquisitive. She set the pace for many a younger woman, and was far more active than prim little Netty, her daughter. Needless to say, she was adored by her son, to whom she was both mother and chum.

Dick Swinton was like his father, the same gentlemanly spirit combined with a somewhat unpractical mind, which turned to the beautiful and the good, and refused to admit the ugliness of unpleasant facts. Indeed, the young man’s position was even more awkward than his father’s. As grandson and heir of Richard Herresford much was expected of him. Everybody did not know that the rich old man was such a miser that, after paying for his grandson’s education, at his daughter’s persuasion, he allowed him only a thousand dollars a year, and persistently refused to disburse this sum until it was dragged from him by Mrs. Swinton.

The rector turned over the leaves of the account-books, and sighed heavily. 15

“It’s no use,” he cried, at last. “I can’t make them up. They are in a hopeless muddle. I know, though, that I can’t raise a thousand cents, much less a thousand dollars, and the builder threatens to make me bankrupt, if I don’t pay at once.”

“Bankrupt, John!” his wife murmured, languidly raising her brows. “You are exaggerating.”

“No, my dear. The truth must be faced. Pressure is being applied in every direction. I signed a note, making myself security for the building of the Mission-room. And here are other threats of suits. I already have judgments against me, that they may try to satisfy at any moment. Why, even our furniture may be seized! And this man declares that he will make me bankrupt. It’s a horrible position—bad enough for any man, fatal for a clergyman. We’ve staved off the crash for about as long as we can.—And I’m tired of it all!”

He flung the account-book from him, and, brushing his gray hair from his forehead in an agitated fashion, started up. His brow was moist, and his hand trembled.

“Only a matter of a thousand dollars, John?” cried Mrs. Swinton, after another puff from her cigarette. Then, glancing at the clock, she added: “What a time they are getting the carriage ready! We shall be late. Netty, go and see why they are so long.” Netty slipped away. 16

“Mary, you must be late for once,” cried the disturbed husband, striding over to her. “We must talk this matter out.”

She smiled up at him bewitchingly, and he melted, for he adored her still.

“Father will have to pay the money,” she said, rising lazily and facing him—as tall as he, and wonderfully graceful. She put her hand upon his shoulder.

“Yes, John, I’ll go to father once more. It’s really shameful! He absolutely promised you a thousand dollars for that Mission Hall, and then afterward refused to pay it.”

“Yes, of course, he did. That was why I became responsible. But you know what his promises are.”

“His promises should be kept like those of other men. It is wicked to give money with one hand, and then take it away with the