such circumstances, she had other qualities
which stood her in good stead. Conspicuous amongst these was an
indomitable moral courage. She prepared to hurl herself into the breach.

Wyndham was standing a little apart from the herd, leaning against the
wall, as if overcome by an atmosphere too oppressive for endurance, when
he saw his friend approaching him. Knowles was looking about him with
eyes alert, and that furtive but uncontrollable smile which made ladies
say, "Yes; but Mr. Knowles is so dreadfully cynical, you know."

"By the way, Wyndham--I don't want to startle you, but there is a lady
here who particularly wants me to introduce you to her."

Wyndham turned on him a look terrible in its dignified reproach.

"Anything but that, my dear fellow. No more introductions to-night,
please. I've just suffered torture from an unspeakable youth from
Aberdeen, who expected me to rejoice with him because Oxford is at last
recognising the 'exeestence of a metapheesical principle in the wur-r-ld
and mon----'"

"I admit that the party is dull, from a mere worldling's point of view.
But it's a glorious field for the student of human nature. And here's an
opportunity for exceptional research--something quite off the beaten
track. The admirer of you and all your works is the lovely Miss Craven,
and I assure you she's creating a sensation at the other end of the
room."

"Which is she?"

"There, the girl with the copper-coloured hair, talking to Broadbent."

"Ah, that one. No, thanks. I know what you're going to tell me--she
_writes_."

"She doesn't, but she's pretty enough to do that or anything else she
chooses. Scandal says she's looking for a religion. She must be a simple
soul if she thinks she can pick up the article in Oxford."

"Oh, I don't know. Religions are cheap everywhere nowadays, the supply
being so remarkably in excess of the demand, and Miss Craven's soul may
be immortal (we'll give it the benefit of the doubt), but its simplicity
is _un grand peut-etre_. What's the matter?"

"It makes me ill to see the way these fellows go about leading captive
silly women. Do look at Broadbent cramming his spiritual pabulum into
that girl's mouth. Moral platitudes--all the old crusts he can lay his
hands on, soaked in the milk-and-water of sentiment."

"And a little new wine--with the alcohol extracted by the latest
process; no possible risk of injury to the bottles. Don't be uneasy;
I've been watching her all ev