"It gives light to my steps," she laughed.
"The service is worthy of it," Stanford returned with a half-mocking bow.
"Thank you," Mrs. Wilson retorted, sweeping him a satirical courtesy. "If you say such nice things to me, what must you say to Berenice!"
It seemed to Maurice that the devil was exerting all his infernal ingenuity that night to have him tormented at every turn. He came forward hastily, eager to stop the talk.
"Ah," cried Mrs. Wilson, "have you come, ghostly father?"
The men stared at him in careless surprise and open amusement. Maurice could not trust himself to speak, but only bowed in silence.
"I am called, you see," Mrs. Wilson said gayly. "Now I must go to penance and confession."
"Surely you will need so little time for confession," one of the men said, "that there's no necessity of going so early."
"You must have been more wicked this winter than I ever suspected, Elsie," put in the even voice of Mrs. Staggchase. "Or is it that you only mean to be?"
Maurice turned quickly, and found that his cousin was sitting behind the table near which he stood. In front of her were heaps of trinkets of all sorts of fantastic devices.
"Good evening, Cousin Maurice," she greeted him. "Are you dancing? What sort of a favor ought I to give you?"
"Mrs. Wilson's wickedness," Stanford answered Mrs. Staggchase, "is of the sort so original that I'm sure the recording angel must always be too surprised to put it down."
"What a premium you put on originality!" responded Mrs. Staggchase. "That is all very well for her, but how is it for her victims?"
"Oh, the honor of being her victim is compensation enough for them."
Mrs. Wilson laughed, and shook her head, twinkling with diamonds which dazzled the eyes of the young deacon.
"You are all worldly," she retorted. "Brother Martin and I are too unsophisticated to understand you."
Maurice winced at the name. He felt that he must be a picture of confusion. To stand here among these sumptuously dressed women, to endure the glances which he knew were watching him from all parts of the room, to be pricked with this monkish title by a woman who was making of him and of the whole incident a sport and a spectacle, stung him to the quick. He thought of Berenice, and he cast at Mrs. Staggchase a look of defiance, lifting his head proudly in assertion of his hurt dignity.