him, and given way to him in
everything. In her eyes all that he does is right. She never says a word,
I believe, but she must be suffering the tortures of--_you_ know! There's
Winnie Rufford coming in! How astonishingly young she looks. Were you at
the Huntingham's ball? Well--"

Lady Mansford twittered no more about the Harding menage. But Malling
felt that his visit had not been fruitless.

After the opera he went to a party in Grosvenor Street where again he
managed to produce talk of the Hardings. It seemed that Lady Mansford
had not exaggerated very much. Among those who knew the Hardings a change
in the rector of St. Joseph's had evidently been generally noticed.
Malling took in to supper a Mrs. Armitage, a great friend of Lady
Sophia's, and she made no secret of the fact that Lady Sophia was greatly
distressed.

"I thought she would have been here to-night," Mrs. Armitage said. "But
she isn't. I suppose she felt she couldn't face it. So many of his
congregation are here, or so many who were in his congregation."

"The church was crammed to the doors last Sunday week when he preached,"
observed Malling.

"Was it? Curiosity, I suppose. It certainly can't have been the
intellectual merit of the sermon. I heard it was quite deplorable. But
last Sunday's, I was told, was worse still. No continuity at all, and
the church not full. People say the curate, Mr. Chichester, who often
preaches in the evening, is making a great effect, completely cutting out
his rector. And he used to be almost unbearably dull."

"Will you have a quail?"

"Please. You might give me two. My doctor says if I sit up late--thank
you!"

"I've never heard Mr. Chichester preach," said Malling.

"He seems to have come on marvelously, to be quite another man."

"Quite another man, does he?"

"Yes. It's very trying for the Hardings naturally. If it continues I
think there will have to be a change. I don't think things can go on as
they are. My friend Sophia won't be able to stand it."

"You mean--the contrast?"

"Between her husband and Mr. Chichester. She's very highly strung and
quite worships her husband; though, between you and me, _I_ think rather
in the slave spirit. But some women are like that. They can't admire a
man unless he beats them. Not that Mr. Harding ever dreamed of doing such
a thing to Sophia, of course. But his will had to be law in everything.
You know the type of man! It's scarcely my idea of what a clergyman
sh