t the girl's essential motives were of a kind radically
at enmity with her own. Thyrza, it seemed to her, was worldly in the
most hopeless way.

'You'll be sorry for it if you're not firm,' she remarked.

Lydia made no direct reply, but after a moment's musing she said:

'If only she could think of Mr. Ackroyd!'

She had not yet spoken so plainly of this to Mary; the latter was
surprised by the despondency of her tone.

'But I thought they were often together?'

'She's only been out with him when I went as well, and last night she
told him it was no use.'

'Well, I can't say I'm sorry to hear that,' Mary replied with the air
of one who spoke an unpleasant truth.

'Why not, Mary?'

'I think he's likely to do her every bit as much harm as Totty
Nancarrow.'

'What _do_ you mean, Mary?' There was a touch of indignation in Lydia's
voice. 'What harm can Mr. Ackroyd do to Thyrza?'

'Not the kind of harm you're thinking of, dear. But if I had a sister I
know I shouldn't like to see her marry Mr. Ackroyd. He's got no
religion, and what's more he's always talking against religion. Father
says he made a speech last week at that place in Westminster Bridge
Road where the Atheists have their meetings. I don't deny there's
something nice about him, but I wouldn't trust a man of that kind.'

Lydia delayed her words a little. She kept her eyes on the table; her
forehead was knitted.

'I can't help what he thinks about religion,' she replied at length,
with firmness. 'He's a good man, I'm quite sure of that.'

'Lydia, he can't be good if he does his best to ruin people's souls.'

'I don't know anything about that, Mary. Whatever he says, he says
because he believes it and thinks it right. Why, there's Mr. Grail
thinks in the same way, I believe; at all events, he never goes to
church or chapel. And he's a friend of Mr. Ackroyd's.'

'But we don't know anything about Mr. Grail.'

'We don't know much, but it's quite enough to talk to him for a few
minutes to know he's a man that wouldn't say or do anything wrong.'

'He must be a wonderful man, Lydia.'

These Sunday conversations were always fruitful of trouble. Mary was
prepared by her morning and afternoon exercises to be more aggressive
and uncompromising than usual. But the present difficulty appeared a
graver one than any that had yet risen between them. Lydia had never
spoken in the tone which marked her rejoinder:

'Really, Mary, it's as if you couldn't put f