d by the course
their conversation had taken. "You mustn't be offended--really you
mustn't. Let's get together and discuss this like men. We...."

"There is nothing to discuss," said Imrie with a shortness which brooked
no further opening. "You have stated your case with perfect clearness. I
hope I have stated mine equally so. I think that ends it."

"My dear young friend," said the older man with an effort at patience
which only partially concealed his increasing exasperation. "I had no
intention of stirring up all this excitement. I come to you with a
friendly word of advice and you treat me like--like a policeman! Egad,
one would think I was your worst enemy."

"I'm sorry--really--I...."

"Then forget it. Come--we'll take a stroll and talk about the weather.
There's a good fellow. No sense in letting a little difference of
opinion make us lose our tempers."

But behind the Judge's conciliatory words was a secret resolve merely to
wait for a more propitious moment and then to reopen the
discussion--with a tact, of course, acquired by experience. So, after a
desultory discourse, in which he touched upon a number of obviously
unimportant matters, and during which the younger man was uniformly
silent, he renewed his circuitous attack. He tried very hard to be calm
and judicial, but Imrie's taciturn antagonism quite overthrew his poise.
And when the clergyman remained obdurate to all his subtlest questions
and cajoleries and indisputable logic, the Judge lost his temper.

"You're an obstinate ass," he almost shouted.

"There's no doubt of it," said Imrie quietly. There was of course
nothing more to be said after that, so they parted, the Judge to spread
the news of the incredible stubbornness of the clergyman, and Imrie to a
miserable walk, alone.

He was wretched, of course. He knew perfectly well what the outcome of
his folly might be. But counteracting his regret at that, was a glorious
feeling of achievement, of having conquered the devil in a pitched
battle, and of having emerged with no stain on his shield. To all the
world, _Don Quixote_, slaying windmills, was an "obstinate ass," but to
_Don Quixote_ he was a hero. Imrie's feelings, as he battled with the
wind, were a curious complex of dejection and triumph.

When he returned to his rooms, he found a message from Judith, insisting
upon his presence at supper that evening. For a little he debated the
acceptance of the invitation. He felt reluctant at fac