resolve.  He was glad he had made up his mind to it before it was too late.  Upon the possible discomfiture of Fanny Dodge he bestowed but a single thought:  She would get over it.  “It” meaning a quite pardonable fancy—­he refused to give it a more specific name—­for himself.  To the unvoiced opinions of Mrs. Solomon Black, Mrs. Deacon Whittle, Ellen Dix, Mrs. Abby Daggett and all the other women of his parish he was wholly indifferent.  Men, he was glad to remember, never bothered their heads about another man’s love affairs....

The chairs from the sitting room had been removed to the yard, where they were grouped about small tables adequately illuminated by the moon and numerous Japanese lanterns.  Every second chair appeared to be filled by a giggling, pink-cheeked girl; the others being suitably occupied by youths of the opposite sex—­all pleasantly occupied.  The minister conscientiously searched for the chair he had promised to fetch to Fanny Dodge; but it never once occurred to him to bring Fanny out to the cool loveliness of mingled moon and lantern-light.  There was no unoccupied chair, as he quickly discovered; but he came presently upon Lydia Orr, apparently doing nothing at all.  She was standing near Mrs. Black’s boundary picket fence, shielded from the observation of the joyous groups about the little tables by the down-dropping branches of an apple-tree.

“I was looking for you!” said Wesley Elliot.

It was the truth; but it surprised him nevertheless.  He supposed he had been looking for a chair.

“Were you?” said Lydia, smiling.

She moved a little away from him.

“I must go in,” she murmured.

“Why must you?  It’s delightful out here—­so cool and—­”

“Yes, I know.  But the others—­ Why not bring Miss Dodge out of that hot room?  I thought she looked tired.”

“I didn’t notice,” he said....  “Just look at that flock of little white clouds up there with the moon shining through them!”

Lydia glided away over the soft grass.

“I’ve been looking at them for a long time,” she said gently.  “I must go now and help cut more cake.”

He made a gesture of disgust.

“They’re fairly stuffing,” he complained.  “And, anyway, there are plenty of women to attend to all that.  I want to talk to you, Miss Orr.”

His tone was authoritative.

She turned her head and looked at him.

“To talk to me?” she echoed.

“Yes; come back—­for just a minute.  I know what you’re thinking:  that it’s my duty to be talking to parishioners.  Well, I’ve been doing that all the evening.  I think I’m entitled to a moment of relaxation; don’t you?”

“I’m a parishioner,” she reminded him.

“So you are,” he agreed joyously.  “And I haven’t had a word with you this evening, so far; so you see it’s my duty to talk to you; and it’s your duty to listen.”

“Well?” she murmured.