The last word, delivered as if by an afterthought, said everything which she wished it to say.  Esther’s lips shut tightly.  Mary Coombe flushed.  But she was quick to seize the opening nevertheless.

“Such an odd thing, dear Mrs. MacTavish!  Dr. Callandar turns out to be quite an old friend of—­of my family.  We knew each other as boy and girl.  In his college days, you know.”

“How very pleasant.  But I always understood your family lived in Cleveland.  Did Dr. Callandar take his degree in the States?”

“Oh, no, of course not, but I was visiting in Canada when we knew each other.  Mutual friends and—­and all that, you know.”

“Very romantic,” said Mrs. MacTavish.  Her tone was pleasantly cordial, yet there was a something, a tinge—­her quick glance took in Mrs. Coombe’s pretty dress and flowered hat, and the beginning of a smile moved her thin lips.  She said nothing.  But then she did not need to say anything.  Mind reading is common with women.

Mrs. Coombe was furious.  Esther laughed suddenly, a bubbling, girlish laugh, and then pretended that she had laughed because Jane had stubbed her toe.  Jane looked hurt, Mrs. Coombe suspicious and Mrs. MacTavish amused.  So in anything but a properly Sabbatical frame of mind the little party arrived at the church door.

Who does not know, if only in memory, that exquisite thrill of fear and expectation with which Esther entered the place which might contain the man she loved?  Another moment, a breath, and she might see him!...  And who has not known that stab of pain, that awful darkness of the spirit, which came upon her as, instantly, she knew that he was not there?

He was not in the church.  Mental telepathy is recognised as well by its absence as by its presence.  Esther knew that the church was empty of her lover and that it would remain empty.  He was not coming to church to-day.  Fortunate indeed that Mrs. MacTavish was not looking, for the girl’s lip quivered, an unnatural darkness deepened the blue of her eyes.  Then, smiling, she followed her mother up the aisle.  Girls are wonderfully brave and if language is given us to conceal our thoughts smiles are very convenient also.

Mary Coombe settled herself with a flutter and a rustle, and then, behind the decorous shield of a hymn book, she whispered,

“Did you see Dr. Callandar as we came in?”

“No.”

“Look and see if he is here.”

The girl glanced perfunctorily around.

“No,” she said.

Mrs. Coombe frowned.  She was patiently annoyed and Esther felt cold anger stir again.  What difference could the doctor’s absence possibly make to Mary Coombe?