"No; I'm not a person of many engagements, I'm thankful to say. Barnett
hasn't much the cut of a great explorer, has he?"

"No; but those wiry little men can go through a great deal."

"A very great deal. Is Mrs. Barnett a friend of yours?"

"No, not especially. Why?"

"Mere curiosity. That mouth of hers ought to have a bit in it. It's
enough to send any man exploring in Central Asia. I can understand
Barnett's mania for regions untrodden by the foot of man--or woman."

Audrey laughed a little nervously. "I made a mistake in introducing him
to Miss Haviland."

"It was a little cruel of you. But not half so unkind as asking Miss
Armstrong to meet Knowles. That was a refinement of cruelty."

"Why? What have I done? Tell me."

"Didn't you know that Knowles went for Miss Armstrong in last week's
'Piccadilly'? Criticised, witticised, slaughtered, and utterly made game
of her?"

"No? I'd no idea! I thought they'd be delighted to meet each other; and
I know so few really clever people, you know" (this rather plaintively).
"He does cut up people so dreadfully, too."

"He cut her up into very small pieces. Knowles does these things
artistically. He's so urbane in his brutality; that's what makes it so
crushing. Are you an admirer of Miss Armstrong?"

He looked her full in the face, and Audrey blushed. She had read Miss
Armstrong's works, and liked them, because it was the fashion; but not
for worlds would she have admitted the fact now.

"I don't think I am. I've not read _all_ her books."

"_Did_ you like them?"

"I--I hardly know. She's written so many, and I can't understand
them--at least not all of them."

Wyndham smiled. She had read all of them, then.

"I'm glad to hear it. I can't understand them myself; but I detest them,
all the same."

"I thought so. I saw you were having an argument with her."

"Oh, as for that, I agreed with her--with her theory, that is, not with
her practice; that's execrable. But whatever she says I always want to
support the other side."

He changed the subject, much to Audrey's relief.

"I think you knew Mr. Flaxman Reed at Oxford?"

"Yes, slightly. He's an old friend of my uncle's."

"There's something infinitely pathetic about him. I've an immense
respect for him--probably because I don't understand him. I was
surprised to meet him here."

"Really, you are very uncomplimentary to me."

"Am I? Mr. Reed has renounced all the pleasant things of life--hence my
aston