hat illustrated thing you wanted to get on to."

"I'm afraid," said Knowles, "that's not in my line: I don't know
anything about any illustrated things."

"Well, never mind; I want you to know something about Mr. Haviland,
anyhow."

This was just what Knowles wanted himself. He was deeply interested in
the situation as far as he understood it, and he looked forward to its
development. This little diversion created, Miss Armstrong continued
with imperturbable calm. But Audrey, listening with one ear to Mr.
Flaxman Reed, only heard the livelier parts of the dialogue.

"Life isn't all starched linen and eau-de-Cologne," said Miss Armstrong,
sententiously.

"Did I ever say it was?" returned Wyndham.

"Virtually you do. You turn your back on average humanity."

"Pardon me, I do nothing of the kind. I use discrimination."

"Nature has no discrimination."

"Exactly. And Nature has no consideration for our feelings, and very
little maidenly reserve. Therefore we've invented Art."

Audrey leaned forward eagerly. She felt an unusual exaltation. At last
she was in the centre of intellectual life, carried on by the whirl of
ideas. She answered her companion at random.

"Yes," Mr. Flaxman Reed was saying, "my work _is_ disheartening. Half my
parish are animals, brutalised by starvation, degraded out of all
likeness to men and women."

"How dreadful! What hard work it must be!"

"Hard enough to find decent food and clothing for their bodies. But to
have to 'create a soul under those ribs of death'----" he paused. His
voice seemed suddenly to run dry.

"Yes," said Audrey in her buoyant staccato, "I can't think how you
manage it."

There was a moment of silence. Wyndham had turned from Miss Armstrong;
Knowles and Ted had long ago joined Miss Haviland at the other end of
the room, where Mr. Dixon Barnett, still irresistibly attracted by
Katherine, hovered round and round the little group, with the fatal
"desire of the moth for the star." Audrey stood up; Miss Armstrong was
holding out her hand and pleading a further engagement. The little woman
looked sour and ruffled: Wyndham's manner had acted on her like vinegar
on milk. She was followed by Mr. Flaxman Reed. Wyndham dropped into the
seat he left.

"Dixon," said Mrs. Barnett in a low voice which the explorer knew and
obeyed. They were going on to a large "At Home."

Audrey turned to Wyndham with a smile, "I hope you are not going to
follow them, Mr. Wyndham?"