ening, ever since I found her in a corner
with the unspeakable youth, talking transcendentalism. A woman who can
look you in the face and ask you if you have ever doubted your own
existence, and if it isn't a very weird and unaccountable sensation,
would be capable of anything. Five minutes afterwards she was
complimenting Flaxman Reed on the splendid logic of the Roman Faith, and
now I've no doubt she's contributing valuable material to Broadbent's
great work on the Fourth Gospel."

He was wrong. At that moment the earnest seeker after truth was gazing
abstractedly in his direction, and had left the Canon lecturing to empty
benches, balancing himself on his toes, while he defined his theological
position with convincing emphasis of finger and thumb. What he said is
neither here nor there. Then Wyndham repented of his rudeness. He waited
till Knowles was looking another way, and made for the Dean in a
bee-line, approaching him from the rear to find him introducing a late
arrival to his niece. He heard the name Mr. Jackson, and noted the faint
shade of annoyance on the girl's face, as the interloper sat down beside
her with a smile of dreamy content. It was enough to quench Wyndham's
languid ardour. He was not going to take any more trouble to get an
introduction to Miss Audrey Craven.

He saw her once more that evening as he turned to take leave of his
host. She was still sitting beside Mr. Jackson, and Wyndham watched them
furtively. Mr. Jackson was a heavy, flaxen-haired young man, with a
large eye-glass and no profile to speak of. To judge by Miss Craven's
expression, his conversation was not very interesting, though he was
evidently exerting himself to give it a humorous turn. Wyndham smiled in
spite of himself.

"Hard lines, wasn't it?" said Knowles at his elbow. "Brilliant idea of
the Dean's, though--introduce the biggest bore in the county to the
prettiest girl in the room."

The unconscious Mr. Jackson burst into laughter, and Audrey raised her
eyebrows; she looked from Mr. Jackson to Wyndham, and from Wyndham to
Mr. Jackson, and laughed a low musical laugh, without any humour in it,
which echoed unmusically in the memory. Wyndham turned abruptly away,
and Audrey looked after him as he turned. Her face was that of one who
sees her last hope disappearing. Poor Audrey! Who would not have pitied
her? After hovering all evening on the verge of an introduction to his
Eminence, it was hard to bear the irony of thi