The sermon that morning was one of a series dealing with the Commandments and the text was, “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.”  The speaker had the scholar’s power of concentration, the orator’s power of delivery.  He was both poignant and personal.  He seemed to do everything save mention names.  Some sinners in that congregation, thought Willits, had undoubtedly been bearing false witness, and were now listening to a few plain words!  Cautiously he glanced around, almost expecting to see the tale of guilt and sorrow legibly imprinted upon some culprit’s face.  But no one seemed at all disturbed, save one old lady who glared back at him an unmistakable “Thou art the man!” The congregation sat, serenely, soberly attentive, testifying their entire agreement with the speaker by an occasional sigh or nod.  The more fiery the preacher’s denunciations, the more complacent his hearers.  In astonishment Willits realised that, if appearances go for anything, no one in Knox Presbyterian Church had ever borne false witness against anybody!

The collecting of the offering was somewhat of an anti-climax, as was also the anthem by the choir, the latter consisting of a complicated arrangement of the question, “If a man die shall he live again?” reiterated singly by all parts in succession, by duets and quartets and finally by the whole choir, without so much as a shadow of an answer appearing anywhere.

Willits gave a long sigh as they stepped into the summer day again.  It had not been uninteresting, but he was quite ready for lunch.  The doctor, on the contrary, seemed unaccountably to linger.  He even paused to talk to a fat lady in mauve velvet who had mauve cheeks to match.

“So glad to see you in church, Doctor!  Young men, you know, are inclined to be young men!  And these nice days—­very tempting, I’m sure!  Is your friend a stranger?”

Callandar gravely introduced Willits, who became immediately convinced that this mauve lady was the most unpleasant person he had ever seen and doubtless the very person to whom the minister had spoken in his sermon.

Why had Callandar let him in for this?  Why was he waiting around for anyway?  There he was, shaking hands with some one else—­this time it was the girl who had laughed.

“May I present my friend, Professor Willits, Miss Coombe?”

The girl extended a graceful hand and for an instant the professor was permitted a look into eyes which caused him to set his firm lips somewhat grimly.

“And I know, Willits, you will be delighted to meet our pastor, Mr. Macnair.”

A spark began to glow in the professor’s eye, but Callandar’s face was guileless.  The minister shook hands with professional heartiness, but his gaze, Willits thought, was wandering.  He began to feel interested.

“Very fine day,” he remarked imperturbably.

“Lovely, lovely,” agreed the minister, still heartily.  The mauve lady was waiting for the pastoral handshake, but he did not notice her.  He was watching the dark girl talking to Callandar.