well, she hardly thought he would
take the trouble to read anything that was not interesting.

CHAPTER XII

Audrey had made a faint protest against Wyndham's realistic presentation
of Flaxman Reed. In doing so she was not guided by any insight into the
character of that divine, or by any sympathy with his aims. Indeed she
could not have understood him if she had tried. Her thoughts had never
travelled along that avenue of time down which Wyndham had tracked his
pathetic figure to the thirteenth century. She merely wanted to avoid a
slavish acquiescence in Wyndham's view, to guard a characteristic
intellectual attitude. Intellect has its responsibilities, and she was
anxious to show herself impartial. In all this Flaxman Reed counted for
nothing. It was intolerable to her that Wyndham should have classed her
even for a moment with those weak emotional creatures who submitted to
his influence. Why, he might just as well have said that she was
influenced by Ted Haviland; the fact being that no engaged woman ever
preserved her independence more completely than she had done. Had
devotion to Ted interfered with her appreciation of Wyndham? Then she
reflected that Wyndham did not know about her engagement any more than
other people.

So when Mr. Flaxman Reed called, as he did on Monday afternoon, Audrey
met him with a mind secure against any malignant charm. His most
innocent remarks excited her suspicion.

"I'm glad you've found your way to St. Teresa's. We don't often get such
a strong contingent from the other side." By "the other side" Mr. Reed
meant Middlesex, but to Audrey the phrase was insidiously controversial.
She determined to take her stand once and for all.

"I'm afraid my heterodoxy is incorrigible. So I should say is Mr.
Langley Wyndham's."

The vicar raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "I don't know why _he_
came--unless it was for old acquaintance' sake."

"Ah! you knew him, didn't you? Do tell me about him. He's public
property, you know."

"I daresay, but I have no right to discuss him. We hardly ever meet now;
if we did we shouldn't agree. We are enigmas to each other."

"Yes," she said meditatively, and with a faint reproduction of Wyndham's
manner, "I should say you would be. He belongs so essentially to the
present, don't you think?"

Flaxman Reed flushed painfully. "And I to the past--is that what you
mean?"

"Yes, I think I do."

"You may be right. I suppose he is very modern-