le as he said--

"We were not joking. New men will come in, not improbably with new
ideas. I must be ready for them. An ignorance of men's moods is fatal."

He hoped she would take this warning to herself. She was, however, too
stirred to consider anything except the cause of their common agitation.

"Dr. Benson was saying to papa only last week," she answered, "that
there is no apparent recognition of the Divine presence in our daily
affairs. It is most shocking."

"The clergy are doing their level best, by bigotry, to make Benson's
assertion true. At any rate, I am not going about, as the French put it,
with my paws in the air. I feel strongly tempted to throw up my present
line, and give the whole Association to the best qualified hypocrite of
my acquaintance."

"The sure way out of that temptation is not to think yourself exposed to
it," said Robert quickly.

"I hate sophistries," said Agnes, tightening her lips. "And I hope,
Beauclerk, that you will never remain in any painful situation against
your will."

These words seemed to bear an ominous significance. Agnes herself,
having uttered them, received one of those sudden inward illuminations
which, in some natures, amount to second-sight. But she was
unimaginative and not especially observant, sensitive, or skilled in
discerning the signs of any psychological disturbance. She felt only, on
this occasion, that a crisis had been reached, that Reckage was vexed
with himself, with her, with life generally. She had a letter in her
pocket from David Rennes--a beautiful, touching letter, full of longing
for a faith, a hope--love, he said, he possessed, alas! What a
difference in the two men!

"You don't understand," said Sara. "You are right because you haven't
heard enough. Mr. Orange is going to give a lecture on Church History,
and Lord Reckage has promised to be chairman. They will hold the meeting
at St. James's Hall, and I am sure it will be most interesting. More I
cannot tell you, because they have gone no further in their plans."

But misfortune had entered the room, and that wayfarer--once
admitted--asserts her ill-will without let or hindrance. Agnes, barely
touching her tea, rose to say goodbye. Lord Garrow and Reckage escorted
her to the hall. They helped her into a carriage (lent her for that
afternoon by the Duchess of Pevensey), and she drove away, trembling,
tearful, afraid, not reminding her _fiance_ that they were to meet at
dinner in the ev