Mrs. Sand’s tone was casual; her manner had a quality somewhat aggressively democratic.  It said that under her welcome lay the right to criticise, which she would have exercised with equal freedom had her visitor been the Lord Bishop John Calcutta himself; and it made short work of the idea that she might be over-gratified to receive Holy Orders in any form.  She was not unwilling, however, to show, as between Ensign and man, reasonable satisfaction; presently, in fact, she went so far as to say, still vaguely remarking upon his appearance there, that she often thought there ought to be more sociability between the different religious bodies; it would be better for the cause.  There was nothing narrow, she said, about her, nor yet about Captain Sand.  And then, with the distinct intimation that that would do, that she had gone far enough, she crossed her hands in her lap and waited.  It became her to have it understood this visit need have no further object than an exchange of amiabilities; but there might be another, and Mrs. Sand’s folded hands seemed to indicate that she would not necessarily meet it with opposition.

Stephen made successive statements of assent.  He sat grasping his hat between his knees, his eyes fixed upon an infant’s sock which lay upon the floor immediately in front of him, looking at Mrs. Sand as seldom and as briefly as possible, as if his glance took rather an unfair advantage, which he would spare her.

“Yes, yes,” he said.  “Yes, certainly,” revolving his hat in his hands.  And when she spoke of the fraternity that might be fostered by such visits, he looked for an instant as if he had found an opening, which seemed, however, to converge and vanish in Mrs. Sand’s folded hands.  He flushed to think afterwards, that it was she who was obliged to bring his resolution to a head, her scent of his embarrassment, sharpening her curiosity.

“And is there anything we Army officers can do for you, Mr. Arnold?” she inquired.

There was a hint in her voice that, whatever it was, they would have done it more willingly if she had not been obliged to ask.

“I am afraid,” he said; “my mission is not quite so simple.  I could wish it were.  It is so easy to show our poor needs to one another; and I should have confidence——­” he paused, amazed at the duplicity that grinned at him in his words.  At what point more remote within the poles was he likely to show himself with a personal request?

“I have nothing to ask for myself,” he went on, with concentration almost harsh.  “I am here to see if you will consent to speak with me about a matter which threatens your—­your community—­about your possible loss of Miss Filbert.”

Mrs. Sand looked blank.  “The Captain isn’t leavin’ us, as far as I know,” she said.

“Oh—­is it possible that you are not aware that—­that very strong efforts are being made to induce her to do so?”

Mrs. Sand looked about her as if she expected to find an explanation lying somewhere near her chair.  Light came to her suddenly and brought her a conscious smile; it only lacked force to be a giggle.  She glanced at her lap as she smiled; her air was deprecating and off-putting, as if she had detected in what Arnold said some suggestion of a gallant nature aimed at herself.  Happily, he was not looking.