Gail stood at the rail of the Whitecap, gazing out over the dancing blue waves with troubled eyes.

“Penny,” said a cheerful voice at her side.

“For my thoughts,” she replied, turning to the impossibly handsome Dick Rodley who had strolled up, in his blue jacket and white trousers and other nautical embellishments. “Give me your penny.”

He reached in his pockets, but of course, there was no money there. He did, however, find a fountain pen and a card, and he wrote her a note for the amount.

“Now deliver the merchandise,” he demanded.

“Well, to begin with, I’m glad that the fog has been driven away, and that the sun is shining, and that so many of my friends are on board the Whitecap.”

“You’re not a conscientious merchant,” objected Dick. “You’re not giving me all I paid for. No one stands still so long, no matter how charming of figure or becomingly gowned, without a serious thought. I want that thought.”

Gail looked up into his big black eyes reflectively. She was tremendously glad that she had such a friend as Dick. He was so agreeable to look at, and he was no problem to her. The most of her friends were.

“The news in the paper,” she told him. “It’s so big.”

Dick looked down at her critically. Her snow-white yachting costume, with its touches of delicate blue, seemed to make her a part of the blue sea and the blue sky, with their markings of white in foam and cloud, to enhance the delicate pallor of her cheeks, to throw into her brown eyes a trace of violet, to bring into relief, the rich colour of the brown hair which rippled about her face, straying where it could into wanton little ringlets, sometimes gold and sometimes almost red in the sun. She was so new a Gail to Dick that he was puzzled, and worried, too, for he felt, rather than saw, that some trouble possessed this dearest of his friends.

“Yes, it is big news,” he admitted; “big enough and startling enough to impress any one very gravely.” Then he shook his head at her. “But you mustn’t worry about it, Gail. You’re not responsible.”

Gail turned her eyes from him and looked out over the white-edged waves again.

“It is a tremendous responsibility,” she mused, whereupon Dick, as became him, violently broke that thread of thought by taking her arm and drawing her away from the rail, and walking gaily with her up to the forward shelter deck, where, shielded from the crispness of the wind, there sat, around the big table and amid a tangle of Sunday papers, Jim Sargent and the Reverend Smith Boyd, Arly and Gerald Fosland, all four deep in the discussion of the one possible topic of conversation.

“Allison’s explosion again,” objected Dick, as Gail and he joined the group, and caught the general tenor of the thought. “I suppose the only way to escape that is to jump off the Whitecap. Gail’s worse than any of you. I find she’s responsible for the whole thing.”

Arly and Gerald looked up quickly.

“I neither said nor intimated anything of the sort,” Gail reprimanded Dick, for the benefit of the Foslands, and she sat down by Arly, whereupon Dick, observing that he was much offended, patted Gail on the shoulder, and disappeared in search of Ted.

“I’d like to hand a vote of thanks to the responsible party,” laughed Jim Sargent, to whom the news meant more than Gail appreciated. “With Allison broke, Urbank of the Midcontinent succeeds to control of the A.-P., and Urbank is anxious to incorporate the Towando Valley in the system. He told me so yesterday.”

The light which leaped into Gail’s eyes, and the trace of colour which flashed into her cheeks, were most comforting to Arly; and they exchanged a smile of great satisfaction. They clutched hands ecstatically under the corner of the table, and wanted to laugh outright. However, it would keep.

“The destruction of Mr. Allison was a feat of which any gentleman’s conscience might approve,” commented Gerald Fosland, who had spent some time in definitely settling, with himself, the ethics of that question. “The company he proposed to form was a menace to the liberty of the world and the progress of civilisation.”

“The destruction didn’t go far enough,” snapped Jim Sargent. “Clark, Vance, Haverman, Grandin, Babbitt, Taylor, Chisholm; these fellows won’t be touched, and they built up their monopolies by the same method Allison proposed; trickery, force, and plain theft!”

“Harsh language, Uncle Jim Sargent, to use toward your respectable fellow-vestrymen,” chided Arly, her black eyes dancing.

“Clark and Chisholm?” and Jim Sargent’s brows knotted. “They’re not my fellow-vestrymen. Either they go or I do!”

“I would like you to remain,” quietly stated the Reverend Smith Boyd. “I hope to achieve several important alterations in the ethics of Market Square Church.” He was grave this morning. He had unknowingly been ripening for some time on many questions; and the revelations in this morning’s papers had brought him to the point of decision. “I wish to drive the money changers out of the temple,” he added, and glanced at Gail with a smile in which there was acknowledgment.

“A remarkably lucrative enterprise, eh Gail?” laughed her Uncle Jim, remembering her criticism on the occasion of her first and only vestry meeting, when she had called their attention to the satire of the stained glass window.

“You will have still the Scribes and Pharisees, Doctor; ‘those who stand praying in the public places, so they may be seen of all men,’” and Gail smiled across at him, within her eyes the mischievous twinkle which had been absent for many days.

“I hope to be able to remove the public place,” replied the rector, with a gravity which told of something vital beneath the apparent repartee. Mrs. Boyd, strolling past with Aunt Grace Sargent, paused to look at him fondly. “I shall set myself, with such strength as I may have, against the building of the proposed cathedral.”

He had said it so quietly that it took the little group a full minute to comprehend. Jim Sargent looked with acute interest at the end of his cigar, and threw it overboard. Arly leaned slowly forward, and, resting her piquant chin on her closed hand, studied the rector earnestly. Gerald stroked his moustache contemplatively, and looked at the rector with growing admiration. By George, that was a sportsmanlike attitude! He’d have to take the Reverend Smith Boyd down to the Papyrus Club one day. All the trouble flew back into Gail’s eyes. It was a stupendous thing the Reverend Smith Boyd was proposing to relinquish! The rectorship of the most wonderful cathedral in the world! Mrs. Boyd looked startled for a moment. She had known of Tod’s bright dreams about the new cathedral and the new rectory. He had planned his mother’s apartments himself, and the last thing his eyes looked upon at night were the beautifully coloured sketches on his walls.

“Don’t be foolish, Boyd,” protested Sargent, who had always felt a fatherly responsibility for the young rector. “It’s a big ambition and a worthy ambition, to build that cathedral; and because you’re offended with certain things the papers have said, about Clark and Chisholm in connection with the church, is no reason you should cut off your nose to spite your face.”

“It is not the publication of these things which has determined me,” returned the rector thoughtfully. “It has merely hastened my decision. To begin with, I acknowledge now that it was only a vague, artistic dream of mine that such a cathedral, by its very magnificence, would promote worship. That might have been the case when cathedrals were the only magnificent buildings erected, and when every rich and glittering thing was devoted to religion. A golden candlestick then became connected entirely with the service of the Almighty. Now, however, magnificence has no such signification. The splendour of a cathedral must enter into competition with the splendour of a state house, a museum, or a hotel.”

“You shouldn’t switch that way, Boyd,” remonstrated Sargent, showing his keen disappointment. “When you began to agitate for the cathedral you brought a lot of our members in who hadn’t attended services in years. You stirred them up. You got them interested. They’ll drop right off.”

“I hope not,” returned the rector earnestly. “I hope to reach them with a higher ambition, a higher pride, a higher vanity, if you like to put it that way. I wish them to take joy in establishing the most magnificent living conditions for the poor which have ever been built! We have no right to the money which is to be paid us for the Vedder Court property. We have no right to spend it in pomp. It belongs to the poor from whom we have taken it, and to the city which has made us rich by enhancing the value of our ground. I propose to build permanent and sanitary tenements, to house as many poor people as possible, and conduct them without a penny of profit above the cost of repairs and maintenance.”

Gail bent upon him beaming eyes, and the delicate flush, which had begun to return to her cheeks, deepened. Was this the sort of tenements he had proposed to re-erect in Vedder Court? Perhaps she had been hasty! The Reverend Smith Boyd in turning slowly from one to the other of the little group, by way of establishing mental communication with them, rested, for a moment, in the beaming eyes of Gail, and smiled at her in affectionate recognition then swept his glance on to his mother, where it lingered.

“You are perfectly correct,” stated Gerald Fosland, who, though sitting stiffly upright, had managed nevertheless to dispose one elbow where it touched gently the surface of Arly. “Market Square Church is a much more dignified old place of worship than the ostentatious cathedral would ever be, and your project for spending the money has such strict justice at the bottom of it that it must prevail. But, I say, Doctor Boyd,” and he gave his moustache a contemplative tug; “don’t you think you should include a small margin of profit for the future extension of your idea?”

“That’s glorious, Gerald!” approved Gail; and Arly, laughing, patted his hand.

“You’re probably right,” considered the rector, studying Fosland with a new interest. “I think we’ll have to put you on the vestry.”

“I’d be delighted, I’m sure,” responded Gerald, in the courteous tone of one accepting an invitation to dinner.

“Do you hear what your son’s planning to do?” called Jim Sargent to Mrs. Boyd. He was not quite reconciled. “He proposes to take that wonderful new rectory away from you.”

The beautiful Mrs. Boyd merely dimpled.

“I am a trifle astonished,” she confessed. “My son has been so extremely eager about it; but if he is relinquishing the dream, it is because he wants something else very much more worth while. I entirely approve of his plan for the new tenements,” and she did not understand why they all laughed at her. She did feel, however, that there was affection in the laughter; and she was quite content. Laughing with them, she walked on with Grace Sargent. They had set out to make twenty trips around the deck, for exercise.

“I find that I have been at work on the plans for these new tenements ever since the condemnation,” went on the rector. “I would build them in the semi-court style, with light and air in every room; with as little woodwork as possible; with plumbing appliances of simple and perfect sanitation; with centralised baths under the care of an attendant; with assembly rooms for both social and religious observances and with self contained bureaus of employment, health and police protection—one building to each of six blocks, widening the street for a grass plot, trees, and fountains. The fact that the Market Square Church property is exempt from taxation, saving us over half a million dollars a year, renders us able to provide these advantages at a much lower rental to my Vedder Court people than they can secure quarters anywhere else in the city, and at the same time lay up a small margin of profit for the system.”

Gerald Fosland drew forward his chair.

“Do you know,” he observed, “I should like very much to become a member of your vestry.”

“I’m glad you are interested,” returned the rector, and producing a pencil he drew a white advertising space towards him. “This is the plan of tenement I have in mind,” and for the next half hour the five of them discussed tenement plans with great enthusiasm.

At the expiration of that time, Ted and Lucile and Dick and Marion came romping up, with the deliberate intention of creating a disturbance; and Gail and the Reverend Smith Boyd, being thrown accidentally to the edge of that whirlpool, walked away for a rest.

“They tell me you’re going abroad,” observed the rector, looking down at her sadly, as they paused at her favourite rail space.

“Yes,” she answered quietly. “Father and mother are coming next week,” and she glanced up at the rector from under her curving lashes.

There was a short space of silence. It was almost as if these two were weary.

“We shall miss you very much,” he told her, in all sincerity. They were both looking out over the blue waves; he, tall, broad-shouldered, agile of limb; she, straight, lithe, graceful. Mrs. Boyd and Mrs. Sargent passed them admiringly, but went on by with a trace of sadness.

“I’m sorry to leave,” Gail replied. “I shall be very anxious to know how you are coming on with your new plan. I’m proud of you for it.”

“Thank you,” he returned.

They were talking mechanically. In them was an inexpressible sadness. They had come so near, and yet they were so far apart. Moreover, they knew that there was no chance of change. It was a matter of conscience which came between them, and it was a divergence which would widen with the years. And yet they loved. They mutually knew it, and it was because of that love that they must stay apart.