But Maryllia, whose guests they were,--Maryllia, who was responsible as their hostess for bringing them to church at all, and who herself, with Cicely, was the last to enter after service had begun, felt a rebellious wave of colour rushing up to her brows. It was very rude of Mr. Walden, she thought, to stop short in his reading and cause the whole congregation to turn and stare curiously at herself and her friends just because they were a little bit behind time! It exposed them all to public rebuke! And when the stir caused by their entrance had subsided, she stood up almost defiantly, lifting her graceful head haughtily, her soft cheeks glowing and her eyes flashing, looking twenty times prettier even than usual as she opened her daintily bound prayer-book with a careless, not to eay indifferent air, as though her thoughts were thousands of miles away from St. Rest and all belonging to it. Glancing at the different members of her party, she was glad that one of them at least, Lady Eva Beaulyon, had secured a front seat, for her ladyship was never content unless she was well to the foremost of everything. She was a reigning beauty,--the darling of the society press, and the model of all aspiring photographers,--and she could hardly be expected to put up with any obscure corner, even in a church;--if she ever went to the Heaven of monkish legend, one could well imagine St. Peter standing aside for her to pass. Close beside her was another wonderful looking woman, a Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay, a 'leader' in society, who went everywhere, did everything, wore the newest coat, skirt or hat from Paris directly it was put on the market, and wrote accounts of herself and her 'smartness' to the American press under a 'nom-de-plume.' She was not, like Lady Beaulyon, celebrated for her beauty, but for her perennial youth. Her face, without being in the least interesting or charming, was smooth and peach-coloured, without a line of thought or a wrinkle of care upon it. Her eyes were bright and quite baby-like in their meaningless expression, and her hair was of the loveliest Titian red. She had a figure which was the envy of all modellers of dress-stands,--and as she was wont to say of herself, it would have been difficult to find fault with the 'chic' of her outward appearance. Painters and sculptors would have found her an affront to nature--but then Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay had no acquaintance with painters and sculptors. She thought them 'queer' people, with very improper ideas. She was exceedingly put out by Walden's abrupt pause in his reading of the 'Dearly beloved,' while she and the other members of the Manor house-party rustled into their places,--and when he recommenced the exordium she revenged herself by staring at him quizzically through a long- handled tortoiseshell-mounted lorgnon. But she did not succeed in confusing him at all, or in even attracting his attention,--so she merely shrugged her shoulders, with what the French call an 'air moqueuse.'