On a frosty Sunday morning, some ten days later, Blake came swinging out Lake Shore Drive at a space-devouring stride that soon brought him to the Leslie mansion. He turned in, and the footman, who had received orders regarding him, promptly bowed him in.

After a moment's hesitancy, Blake handed over a calling card. All his previous cards had been printed, with a "C. E." after his name and nothing before it. These social insignia had been ordered for him by Lord James. Blake wondered how the innovation would impress Genevieve.

She presently came down to him, dressed for church but without her hat. He was quick to note the fact. "You're going out. Didn't mean to call at the wrong time."

"No," she replied. "I am going to church, but not until Aunt Amice and Dolores call by for us. That may not be for half an hour. I am very glad to see you. I remember what you said about your next call. This means, does it not, that you believe you can solve the problem of the Zariba Dam?"

"Yes. I sidetracked the proposition four days ago. Had all the facts and factors in my head, but couldn't seem to get anywhere. Well, I hadn't tried to think about the dam since then, but this morning, all of a sudden, the idea came to me."

"You had set your subconscious mind to working," remarked Genevieve. "The ideas of many of the great inventions and discoveries have come that way."

"Don't know about any subconscious mind," said Blake. "But that idea flashed into my head when I wasn't thinking of the dam at all—just like I'd dreamed it."

"You mean 'as if' you'd dreamed it, not 'like,'" said Genevieve, with a look of playful reproof.

"How's that?" he queried. "Never thought that was wrong. But I like your telling me. Is that right?"

"Quite,—grammatically as well as otherwise," she answered, smiling at his soberness. But her tone was as earnest as his. "The speech of a great engineer should be as correct as his figures."

"That's a go!" agreed Blake. "I'll hire a grammar expert just as soon as I work out this dam idea—um—you know what I mean—this idea about the dam. Don't know how long that will take. But I'm pretty sure I've got the thing cinched—else I wouldn't have had the nerve to come here this morning. You'll believe that, Jenny?"

"Of course. Yet there was no reason why you should have remained away even had you not succeeded. I did not mean you to—to take it that way, Tom."

"All right, then. I'll drop around often if it's not against rules."

"You'll come to church with me this morning?"

"Church!" echoed Blake, in mock-tragic fright. "Haven't been inside a church since I don't know when."

"All the more reason why you should go with us now," she argued.

"Us?"

"Aunt Amice always calls by for papa. He is one of the vestrymen of the
Cathedral, you know, but he'd never go if aunty did not come for him.
We share the same pew. But it's a large one. There'll be room for you."

"Not in the same pew with your aunt and father," rejoined Blake. "It'd take a larger pew than was ever made, to hold them and me."

"Oh, but you must come, Tom. You'll enjoy the music. Here they are now."

"O-ho, Vievie, you in here?" called Dolores, and she darted in upon them. "Goodness! who's the man? Why, it's Mr. Blake. Hail to the hero!"

She pirouetted down to them and shook Blake's hand vigorously, chattering her fastest. "You can't imagine how glad I am to see you. I've had less than half of Jeems, with mamma butting in all the way over. Of course he'll sit between her and Vievie. If you'll come along as my own particular, I'll feed you on chocolates and keep you nudged during the sermon."

"Oh, but I say, Miss Gantry, those were to be my chocolates," protested
Lord James from the doorway.

"Hello," said Blake. "So you're the man, are you? Better look out.
First thing you know, you'll get roped."

"Roped? What's that?" demanded Dolores.

"Ask Jeems," laughed Blake.

"Er—seems to me I've heard the expression in relation to the term 'steer,'" observed Lord James.

"Oh, something to do with a ship," said the girl.

"Yes, with what the sailormen would call a trim craft. Eh, Jeems?" chuckled Blake.

"You're laughing at me!" accused the girl. "To make up for it, you'll have to come and hold my prayer-book for me. Just think!—a real hero to hold my prayer-book!"

"Excuse me!" objected Blake. "I don't know the places."

"Never mind. We can study the styles quite as well. Vievie, let's hurry on. Mamma has gone up to rout out Uncle Herbert. They'll be late—as usual."

"Well, then, I'll clear the track," said Blake. "Take good care of
Jeems for me. Good-bye, Miss Jenny."

"Don't leave, Tom," replied Genevieve. "If you do not wish to go to the
Cathedral—"

"We'll all stay home," cut in Dolores.

"What's this about staying home?" came the voice of Mrs. Gantry from the hall.

"Quick, Mr. Blake!" exclaimed Dolores in a stage whisper. "Hide behind me. I'm taller than Vievie."

Her mother came in upon them in time to catch Blake's broadest grin.
"Stay at home, indeed! Such a delightful day as—Ah!"

"It is Mr. Blake, Aunt Amice," said Genevieve in a tone that compelled the stiffening matron to bow.

"Well, good-bye," repeated Blake.

"Please wait," said Genevieve. "If you do not wish to go to church, you must stay to—Here's papa."

"Not late this time, am I?" demanded Mr. Leslie, bustling into the room. "All ready, my dear? No, you've not got on your hat. Hello!" He stopped short, staring at Blake. "Didn't know you were to be with us."

"I'm not," said Blake.

"You're not? H'm,—why not? Not afraid of church, are you? Better join us."

Blake stared in open astonishment. "Thanks, I—Not this time, I guess," he replied.

Mr. Leslie seemed about to press the point, but paused and glanced at his watch.

"Please do not wait for me," said Genevieve. "I have decided not to go."

If Blake expected an outburst over this, he had another surprise in store for him. Mrs. Gantry turned away, tight-lipped and high of chin, either too full for utterance or else aware that it was an instant when silence was the better part of diplomacy.

Mr. Leslie followed her, after a half-irritable, half-cordial word to
Blake. "Very well, very well. Some other time, then."

As Lord James took his leave of Genevieve with apparent nonchalance, Blake noted an exultant sparkle in the black eyes of Dolores. Yet the look was flatly contradicted by her words as she flounced about toward the door: "You needn't say good-bye, Mr. Scarbridge. You may as well stay right here, since she's not going."

"You see how she rags me," complained Lord James, hastening out after her.

Blake watched them go, his eyes keen with eager observation. He was still staring at the doorway when Genevieve offered banteringly, "A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Blake."

"You'll have to bid higher. Make it a coronet—I mean, half a crown."

"Only half a crown? Why not a crown—the oak crown of the conqueror? You know the Bible verse: 'He that overcometh himself is greater than he that taketh a city.'"

"Can't say as to that; but I've taken in the town, after having failed to overcome," said Blake with bitter humor.

"Tom! You must not speak of your defeats. They are past and of the
Past. You must not even think of them. Have you ever been baptized?"

"Baptized? Let's see… Yes, I remember the question was brought up when I came back from my first hoboing and my sisters got me going to the Episcopal Mission. They even persuaded me to join what's called a confirmation class. That's when it had to be proved I'd been baptized."

"Oh, Tom! then you've been confirmed—you're an Episcopalian!"

"I was confirmed. That's not saying I'm an Episcopalian now."

"Have you joined another denomination?"

"No. It was just that my religious streak pinched out, and some years after that I read Darwin and Spencer and Haeckel."

"But that's no reason. If only you had read Drummond first, you'd have seen that true science and true religion are not opposed but are complementary to each other."

"Drummond?" queried Blake. "Never heard of him, that I remember. Anyway, I guess I'm not one of the religious kind. It was only to please my sisters I started in that time."

"But you'll go to church with me now, Tom?"

Blake hesitated. "Thought you told them you'd decided not to go?"

"Not to the Cathedral. There's the little chapel down the street, in which I was confirmed. It's nearer. We could walk. The bishop officiates at the communion this morning, but he is ill; so Mr. Vincent, the vicar, will preach. He's a young clergyman and is said to be as popular with the men of his congregation as with the women. His text to-day for morning service is—No, I'll not tell it to you, but I'm sure you'll find the sermon helpful."

"If you're so anxious to have me go, Jenny, I'll go. But it's to be with you, not because I'm interested in that kind of religion. I don't believe in going to a church every week and whining about being full of sin and iniquity and all that. The people that do it are either hypocrites and don't believe what they are saying, or else it's true, and they ought to go to jail."

Genevieve smiled regretfully. "You and I live in such different worlds.
Will you not try to at least look into mine?"

"Well, I'll not sleep during the sermon," promised Blake.

She shook her head at his levity, and left him, to fetch her hat and furs.

When they went out, Blake had no need to stop in the hall. He had brought no overcoat. The first breath of the clear frosty air outside caused her to draw her furs about her graceful throat. She glanced at Blake, and asked with almost maternal concern. "Where's your topcoat? You'll take cold."

"What, a day like this?" he replied. "On a good hustling job I'd call this shirtsleeve weather."

"You're so hardy! That is part of your strength."

"Um-m," muttered Blake. "That cousin of yours is a hummer, isn't she?"

"If you but knew how she envies me my Crusoe adventures!"

"I'm not surprised to hear it. What gets me is seeing her go to the same church as her mother."

"She doesn't usually. But how could she miss such a chance to tease aunty and Lord James? She's a dear contrary girl."

"Then she's not an Episcopalian?"

"Oh, yes. Isn't it nice that we all are?"

"We all?" queried Blake.

"If you've been confirmed, you are, too. That's why I'm so glad you're coming with me. We'll take the communion together."

Blake's face darkened, and he replied hesitatingly: "Why, you see,
Jenny, I—I don't think I want to."

"But, Tom, when it will please me so much!"

"You know I'd like to please you—only, you see, I'm not—I don't believe in it."

"Do you positively disbelieve in it?"

"Well, I can't say just that."

"Then I'm sure it will be all right. You'll not be irreverent, and maybe it will reawaken your own true spiritual self."

"Sorry," said Blake uneasily. "I'm afraid I can't do it, even to please you."

"But why not? Surely, Tom, you'll not allow your hard cold science to stand in the way of a sacrament!"

"I don't know whether it is a sacrament or isn't."

"Is that your reason for refusing what I so greatly desire?"

He looked away from her, and asked in a tone that was meant to be casual, "Do they use regular wine, or the unfermented kind?"

"So that's your reason!" she exclaimed. "I did not think you'd be afraid."

"Anything that has alcohol in it—" he sought to explain. "It's the very devil to rouse that craving! There have been times when I've taken a drink and fought it down—but not when—No, I can't risk it, Jenny."

"Not the communion wine? Surely no harm could come from that! You need take only the slightest sip."

"One taste might prove to be as bad as a glassful. You can't guess what it's like. I'm apt to go wild. Just the smell is bad enough."

"But it's the communion, Tom. You have been confirmed in the Church. You know what the consecrated bread and wine symbolize. You can recall to mind all the sacred associations."

"I'm mighty sorry," replied Blake. "If only that meant to me what it does to you, I might risk it. I'm no blatant atheist or anti-religionist. I'm simply agnostic; I don't believe. That's all. You have faith. I haven't. I didn't wish to get rid of my faith. It just went."

"It may come to you again, if you seek to partake of the spiritual communion," urged Genevieve.

"I'm willing enough to try that. But I'll not risk any wine."

"You'll not?" she cried. "Afraid to taste the consecrated wine? Then you are weak!—you are a coward! And I thought you strong, despite your own confession!"

The outburst of reproach forced Blake to flinch. He muttered in protest, "Good Lord, Jenny! you don't mean to say you make this a part of the test?"

"Does it mean nothing to you that I long to have you share the communion with me?" she rejoined. "What must I think of you if you dare not venture to partake of that holy symbol, in the communion of all that is highest within you with the Father?"

Blake quivered as though the frosty air had at last sent a chill through his powerful frame.

"You insist?" he asked huskily.

"You are strong. You will do it," she replied.

"You don't know what it means. But, since you insist—" he reluctantly acquiesced. He added almost inaudibly, "Up against it for sure! Still—there have been times—"