As the autumn had progressed at Littlebath, she had become more and more intimate with Miss Baker, till she had almost taught herself to regard that lady as a dear friend. She had fallen into the habit of going to Mrs Stumfold’s tea-parties every fortnight, and was now regarded as a regular Stumfoldian by all those who interested themselves in such matters. She had begun a system of district visiting and Bible reading with Miss Baker, which had at first been very agreeable to her. But Mrs Stumfold had on one occasion called upon her and taken her to task,—as Miss Mackenzie had thought, rather abruptly,—with reference to some lack of energy or indiscreet omission of which she had been judged to be guilty by that highly-gifted lady. Against this Miss Mackenzie had rebelled mildly, and since that things had not gone quite so pleasantly with her. She had still been honoured with Mrs Stumfold’s card of invitation, and had still gone to the tea-parties on Miss Baker’s strenuously-urged advice; but Mrs Stumfold had frowned, and Miss Mackenzie had felt the frown; Mrs Stumfold had frowned, and the retired coachbuilder’s wife had at once snubbed the culprit, and Mr Maguire had openly expressed himself to be uneasy.

“Dearest Miss Mackenzie,” he had said, with charitable zeal, “if there has been anything wrong, just beg her pardon, and you will find that everything has been forgotten at once; a more forgiving woman than Mrs Stumfold never lived.”

“But suppose I have done nothing to be forgiven,” urged Miss Mackenzie.

Mr Maguire looked at her, and shook his head, the exact meaning of the look she could not understand, as the peculiarity of his eyes created confusion; but when he repeated twice to her the same words, “The heart of man is exceeding treacherous,” she understood that he meant to condemn her.

“So it is, Mr Maguire, but that is no reason why Mrs Stumfold should scold me.”

Then he got up and left her, and did not speak to her again that evening, but he called on her the next day, and was very affectionate in his manner. In Mr Stumfold’s mode of treating her she had found no difference.

With Miss Todd, whom she met constantly in the street, and who always nodded to her very kindly, she had had one very remarkable interview.

“I think we had better give it up, my dear,” Miss Todd had said to her. This had been in Miss Baker’s drawing-room.

“Give what up?” Miss Mackenzie had asked.

“Any idea of our knowing each other. I’m sure it never can come to anything, though for my part I should have been so glad. You see you can’t serve God and Mammon, and it is settled beyond all doubt that I’m Mammon. Isn’t it, Mary?”

Miss Baker, to whom this appeal was made, answered it only by a sigh.

“You see,” continued Miss Todd, “that Miss Baker is allowed to know me, though I am Mammon, for the sake of auld lang syne. There have been so many things between us that it wouldn’t do for us to drop each other. We have had the same lovers; and you know, Mary, that you’ve been very near coming over to Mammon yourself. There’s a sort of understanding that Miss Baker is not to be required to cut me. But they would not allow that sort of liberty to a new comer; they wouldn’t, indeed.”