There was a cheery supper table spread in the dining-room; coffee, indeed, and Stoney Creek oysters, and excellently cooked. Only Charity and Madge were there; Mrs. Armadale had gone to bed, and Lois was attending upon her. Mr. DilIwyn, however, was served assiduously.
"I hope you're hungry! You've done a load of good this evening, Mr.
Dillwyn," said Charity, as she gave him his coffee.
"Thank you. I don't see the connection," said Philip, with an air as different as possible from that he had worn in talking to Mrs. Barclay in the next room.
"People ought to be hungry when they have done a great deal of work,"
Madge explained, as she gave him a plate of oysters.
"I do not feel that I have done any work."
"O, well! I suppose it was play to you," said Charity, "but that don't make any difference. You've done a load of good. Why, the children will never be able to forget it, nor the grown folks either, as far as that goes; they'll talk of it, and of you, for two years, and more."
"I am doubtful about the real worth of fame, Miss Charity, even when it lasts two years."
"O, but you've done so much good!" said the lady. "Everybody sees now that the white church can hold her own. Nobody'll think of making disagreeable comparisons, if they have fifty Christmas trees."
"Suppose I had helped the yellow church?"
Charity looked as if she did not know what he would be at. Just then in came Lois and took her place at the table; and Mr. Dillwyn forgot all about rival churches.