They are hypocritical and false and cruel. I HATE them."

She looked now as she had in the room at Mrs. Briggs's when I had questioned her concerning her father. I could not imagine the reason for this sudden squall from a clear sky. Hephzy drew a long breath.

"Well," she said, after a moment, "then Hosy and you ought to get along first-rate together. He's down on hypocrites and make-believe piety as bad as you are. The only time he and Mr. Partridge, our minister in Bayport, ever quarreled--'twasn't a real quarrel, but more of a disagreement--was over what sort of a place Heaven was. Mr. Partridge was certain sure that nobody but church members would be there, and Hosy said if some of the church members in Bayport were sure of a ticket, the other place had strong recommendations. 'Twas an awful thing to say, and I was almost as shocked as the minister was; that is I should have been if I hadn't known he didn't mean it."

Miss Morley regarded me with a new interest, or at least I thought she did.

"Did you mean it?" she asked.

I smiled. "Yes," I answered.

"Now, Hosy," cried Hephzy. "What a way that is to talk! What do you know about the hereafter?"

"Not much, but," remembering the old story, "I know Bayport. Humph!

speaking of ministers, here is one now."

Judson, the curate, was approaching across the lawn. Hephzy hastily removed the lid of the teapot. "Yes," she said, with a sigh of relief, "there's enough tea left, though you mustn't have any more, Hosy. Mr.

Judson always takes three cups."

Judson was introduced and, the "between-maid" having brought another chair, he joined our party. He accepted the first of the three cups and observed.

"I hope I haven't interrupted an important conversation. You appeared to be talking very earnestly."

I should have answered, but Hephzy's look of horrified expostulation warned me to be silent. Frances, although she must have seen the look, answered instead.

"We were discussing Heaven," she said, calmly. "Mr. Knowles doesn't approve of it."

Hephzy bounced on her chair. "Why!" she cried; "why, what a--why, WHAT will Mr. Judson think! Now, Frances, you know--"

"That was what you said, Mr. Knowles, wasn't it. You said if Paradise was exclusively for church members you preferred--well, another locality. That was what I understood you to say."

Mr. Judson looked at me. He was a very good and very orthodox and a very young man and his feelings showed in his face.

"I--I can scarcely think Mr. Knowles said that, Miss Morley," he protested. "You must have misunderstood him."

"Oh, but I didn't misunderstand. That was what he said."

Again Mr. Judson looked at me. It seemed time for me to say something.

"What I said, or meant to say, was that I doubted if the future life, the--er--pleasant part of it, was confined exclusively to--er--professed church members," I explained.

The curate's ruffled feelings were evidently not soothed by this explanation.

"But--but, Mr. Knowles," he stammered, "really, I--I am at a loss to understand your meaning. Surely you do not mean that--that--"

"Of course he didn't mean that," put in Hephzy. "What he said was that some of the ones who talk the loudest and oftenest in prayer-meetin' at our Methodist church in Bayport weren't as good as they pretended to be.

And that's so, too."

Mr. Judson seemed relieved. "Oh," he exclaimed. "Oh, yes, I quite comprehend. Methodists--er--dissenters--that is quite different--quite."

"Mr. Judson knows that no one except communicants in the Church of England are certain of happiness," observed Frances, very gravely.

Our caller turned his attention to her. He was not a joker, but I think he was a trifle suspicious. The young lady met his gaze with one of serene simplicity and, although he reddened, he returned to the charge.

"I should--I should scarcely go as far as that, Miss Morley," he said. "But I understand Mr. Knowles to refer to--er--church members; and--er--dissenters--Methodists and others--are not--are not--"

"Well," broke in Hephzibah, with decision, "I'm a Methodist, myself, and _I_ don't expect to go to perdition."

Judson's guns were spiked. He turned redder than ever and changed the subject to the weather.

The remainder of the conversation was confined for the most part to Frances and the curate. They discussed the village and the people in it and the church and its activities. At length Judson mentioned golf.

"Mr. Knowles and I are to have another round shortly, I trust," he said.

"You owe me a revenge, you know, Mr. Knowles."

"Oh," exclaimed the young lady, in apparent surprise, "does Mr. Knowles play golf?"

"Not real golf," I observed.

"Oh, but he does," protested Mr. Judson, "he does. Rather! He plays a very good game indeed. He beat me quite badly the other day."

Which, according to my reckoning, was by no means a proof of extraordinary ability. Frances seemed amused, for some unexplained reason.

"I should never have thought it," she observed.

"Why not?" asked Judson.

"Oh, I don't know. Golf is a game, and Mr. Knowles doesn't look as if he played games. I should have expected nothing so frivolous from him."

"My golf is anything but frivolous," I said. "It's too seriously bad."

"Do you golf, Miss Morley, may I ask?" inquired the curate.

"I have occasionally, after a fashion. I am sure I should like to learn."

"I shall be delighted to teach you. It would be a great pleasure, really."

He looked as if it would be a pleasure. Frances smiled.

"Thank you so much," she said. "You and I and Mr. Knowles will have a threesome."

Judson's joy at her acceptance was tempered, it seemed to me.

"Oh, of course," he said. "It will be a great pleasure to have your uncle with us. A great pleasure, of course."

"My--uncle?"

"Why, yes--Mr. Knowles, you know. By the way, Miss Morley--excuse my mentioning it, but I notice you always address your uncle as Mr.

Knowles. That seems a bit curious, if you'll pardon my saying so. A bit distant and--er--formal to our English habit. Do all nieces and nephews in your country do that? Is it an American custom?"