The members of the Stanway family, in order to avoid the crush in the aisles and portico, always remained in their pew after service, until the chapel had nearly emptied itself; and to-day Leonora chose to sit longer than usual.  John had been too fatigued to rise for breakfast; Rose was struck down by a sick headache; and Ethel had stayed at home to nurse Rose, so far as Rose would allow herself to be nursed.  Leonora felt no desire to hurry back to the somewhat perilous atmosphere of Sunday dinner, and moreover she shrank nervously from the possibility of having to make the acquaintance of Mr. Twemlow.  But when she and Milly at length reached the outer vestibule, a concourse of people still lingered there, and among them Arthur was just bidding good-bye to the Myatts.  Hannah, rather shortsighted, did not observe Leonora and Milly; Meshach gave them his curt quizzical nod, and the aged twain departed.  Then Millicent, proud of her acquaintance with the important stranger, and burning to be seen in converse with him, left her mother’s side and became an independent member of society.

‘How do you do, Mr. Twemlow?’ she chirped.

‘Ah!’ he replied, recognising her with a bow the sufficiency of which intoxicated the young girl.  ‘Not in such a hurry this morning?’

‘Oh! no!’ she agreed with smiling effusion, and they both glanced with furtive embarrassed swiftness at Leonora.  ’Mamma, this is Mr. Twemlow.  Mr. Twemlow my mother.’  The dashing modish air of the child was adorable.  Having concluded her scene she retired from the centre of the stage in a glow.

Arthur Twemlow’s manner altered at once as he took Leonora’s hand and saw the sudden generous miracle which happened in her calm face when she smiled.  He was impressed by her beautiful maturity, by the elegance born of a restrained but powerful instinct transmitted to her through generations of ancestors.  His respect for Meshach rose higher.  And she, as she faced the self-possessed admiration in Arthur’s eyes, was conscious of her finished beauty, even of the piquancy of the angle of her hat, and the smooth immaculate whiteness of her gloves; and she was proud, too, of Millicent’s gracile, restless charm.  They walked down the steps side by side, Leonora in the middle, watched curiously from above and below by little knots of people who still lingered in front of the chapel.

‘You soon got to work here, Mr. Twemlow,’ said Leonora lightly.

He laughed.  ’I guess you mean that collecting box.  That was Mr. Myatt’s game.  He didn’t do me right, you know.  He got me into his pew, and then put the plate on to me.’

Leonora liked his Americanism of accent and phrase; it seemed romantic to her; it seemed to signify the quick alertness, the vivacious and surprising turns, of existence in New York, where the unexpected and the extraordinary gave a zest to every day.

‘Well, you collected perfectly,’ she remarked.