Isa had been with Molly for the last half hour.

“I came on that unpleasant business of making a call of condolence,” she announced on her entrance, “but they told me Cousin Elsie was lying down to rest and her girls were with her—­Elsie and Vi—­so not wishing to disturb them, I’ll visit with you first, if you like.”

“I’m glad to see you,” Molly said.  “Please be seated.”

Isadore seemed strangely embarrassed and sat for some moments without speaking.

“What is the matter, Isa?” Molly asked at length.

“I think it was really unkind in mamma to send me on this errand; it was her place to come, but she said Cousin Elsie was so bound up in that child that she would be overwhelmed with grief, and she (mamma) would not know what to say; she always found it the most awkward thing in the world to try to console people under such afflictions.”

“It will not be at all necessary,” returned Molly dryly.  “Cousin Elsie has all the consolation she needs.  She came to me for a few moments the very day Lily died, and though I could see plainly that she had been weeping, her face was perfectly calm and peaceful; and she told me that her heart sang for joy when she thought of her darling’s blessedness.”

Isa looked very thoughtful.

“I wish I were sure of it,” she said half unconsciously; “she was such a dear little thing.”

“Sure of what?” cried Molly indignantly; “can you doubt for a moment that that child is in heaven?”

“If she had only been baptized into the true church.  But there, don’t look so angry! how can I help wishing it when I know it’s the only way to be saved?”

“But you don’t know it! you can’t know it, because it isn’t so.  O Isadore, how could you turn Papist and then try to turn Violet?”

“So you’ve heard about it?  I supposed you had,” said Isadore coloring.  “I suppose too, that Cousin Elsie is very angry with me, and that was why I thought it so unkind in mamma to send me in her place, making an excuse of a headache; not a bad enough one to prevent her coming, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know how Cousin Elsie feels about it, or even whether she has heard it,” said Molly; “though I presume she has, as Vi never conceals anything from her.”

“Well I’ve only done my duty and can’t feel that I’m deserving of blame,” said Isadore.  “But such a time as I’ve had of it since my conversion became known in the family!”

“Your perversion, you should say,” interrupted Molly.  “Was Aunt Louise angry?”

“Very; but principally, I could see, because she knew grandpa and Uncle Horace would reproach her for sending me to the convent.”

“And did they?”

“Yes, grandpa was furious, and of course uncle said, ‘I told you so.’  He has only reasoned with me, though he let me know he was very much displeased about Vi.  Cal and Art, too, have undertaken to convince me of my errors, while Virginia sneers and asks why I could not be content to remain a Protestant; and altogether I’ve had a sweet time of it for the last two weeks.”