ent thought could
have come from. That was not like her. But she knew very well who it was
like.

"Is there--someone else?"

The question made her start guiltily. She was glad that her face was in
shadow.

"Was there?" she asked herself. Then the absurdity of the thought made
her smile to herself.

"No," she said firmly. "There is no one else."

"Then perhaps...?" His voice trailed off.

"Yes," she said mechanically, as one who answered a question without
hearing it, "perhaps."

They were silent, then, for a long time. Finally Imrie held out his
hand. His face, clear in the moonlight, was drawn and seemed pallid. He
was visibly affected.

"I'm sorry, Judith," he said, with a perceptible tremor in his voice,
"but I can't help it. Sometime--perhaps...."

"Yes." Her eyes filled with tears again, and she dared not trust herself
to speak. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and comfort him.
But she would do it as she would comfort Roger--and he would know that.
So she held out her hand.

"I'm sorry, too, Arnold. But let us be the good friends we have always
been, anyway."

She regretted that, as she saw him wince. It was not friendship that he
wanted. But she forced herself to finish in that key. It was safest.

"I hope the plans for the new church are getting on famously?"

"Yes," he said apathetically. "It's doing very well."

"You must bring out the sketches and let me see them. I'm tremendously
interested."

"I will--mail them to you," he said heavily. Slowly, as if reluctant, he
took her hand again, held it just a moment, and then, with a suddenness
that overwhelmed her, seized her in his arms and kissed her hotly on the
lips. Then, like a shadow, he fled.

For a long time after he had gone Judith sat on the balustrade,
listening to the myriad noises of the night, and pondering on what had
befallen her. It had been a very eventful day. She smiled as she
pondered on its contrasts. But she sobered as she thought of Imrie. She
felt her cheek grow warm as she recalled his kiss. Then a faint smile
widened her lips at the impetuosity of it. It was so unlike him. He had
never shown such--she knew he would call it disrespect--but that was not
the word she would use. She hoped he would not apologise. That would
spoil it all. Perhaps--if he were a little less respectful....

She could love Imrie the man, she reflected, as she walked slowly into
the house. But Imrie the clergyman--she knew for a cer