And all the time that she was in her room alone she had not a single thought regarding the scene through which she had passed with the Rev. George Holland. She had utterly forgotten him and his wickedness--his vain sophistries. She had forgotten all that he had said to her--his monstrous calumny leveled against her dearest friend; she even forgot her unjust treatment of George Holland and her rudeness--her unparalleled rudeness toward him. She was thinking over something very much more important. What was a question of mere etiquette compared to the question of saving a man's soul alive?

But when she dined opposite to her father it was to the visit of George Holland she referred rather than to the visit of Herbert Courtland.

"What had George Holland got to say that was calculated to interest you?" her father inquired. The peaches were on the table and the servant had, of course, left the room.

"He had nothing to say of interest to me," she replied.

"Nothing, except, of course, that his respectful aspiration to marry you----" suggested Mr. Ayrton.

"You need not put the 'except' before that, my papa," said she.

"And yet I have for some years been under the impression that even when a man whom she recoils from marrying talks to a young woman about his aspirations in the direction of marriage, she is more interested than she would be when the man whom she wishes to marry talks on some other topic."

"At any rate, George Holland didn't interest me so long as he talked of his aspirations. Then he talked of--well, of something else, and I'm afraid that I was rude to him. I don't think that he will come here again. I know that I shall never go to St. Chad's again."