He turned away and reviewed the whole scene about him.  Mrs. Gray and Winifred were already in conversation with a group of people near him, and he heard his mother’s soft, deprecating voice, as in reply to an eager storm of questioning.  A flush was rising in his sister’s face, and just a touch of iron determination, not unknown to the house of Gray, settled her shapely lips.

“Brave little soul!” he said to himself as he thought of the offenses, anent Mrs. Butterworth’s party and the choir, for which she must answer in the court of popular opinion.

Not far from him a group of girls, very smartly dressed, standing in interesting proximity to a corresponding group of youths, flirted and giggled with evident enjoyment.  A soberer group farther on Hubert found to be discussing the war situation in the East, as he drew near in a spirit of investigation.  Some one in the party kindly drew him into their midst, where he joined the conversation for a time.  Then there was a diversion, the new soprano having consented to sing.  The murmur of voices subsided for the most part, save from a party of elderly people, hard of hearing, who continued their absorbing conversation throughout.  Miss Trilling sang a love song with much expression, and responded to an encore with a humorous selection.  The young people applauded loudly, and their elders smiled with indiligent pleasure.  Hubert continued his search, now rather despairing, for that for which he had come.  This time he proceeded under the guidance of a man who offered to introduce him to some whom he did not know.  They passed a quiet little wall-flower in a sober dress and he looked at her wistfully, seeing something in her face which made him think she knew his Lord and would talk of Him if there were hut a chance.  But his guide drew him on.  He listened to bits of conversation, straining his ears in vain to hear one reference to Christ.  The conversations were sometimes serious, more often gay, but none spoke of their Lord.

Hubert’s heart withdrew within him, and he had no further inclination to speak to any of his new-found hope.  A bitter theory was forming itself in his mind.  This company was no different from any other in the world.  Were they not all as he thought them in the days of his scepticism?  If they knew Him whom he had come to see as the supremest Object of devotion in all the universe, could they forbear to speak of Him when they met together?  Would they not be like flaming brands, igniting one another in their fervent zeal?  He was not acquainted with the book of Malachi, and had perhaps never read the words:  “Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another:  and the Lord hearkened and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the Lord and that thought upon His name.”  Had he known the words they would have seemed a satire in this company.

“They do not know Him,” he thought passionately, “and I—­am I under a delusion?  Is it all a farce?”