Part 11 (2/2)

”Don't you know? They were engaged a long time, wedding-day fixed and everything, when she broke it off suddenly, without a word of warning.”

”Why?”

”Why indeed! She left her reasons to the imagination.”

”When did it happen?”

”Just about this time last year. I can't think what made her do it, unless she had a turn for psychical research--raking in the ashes of his past, and that sort of thing.”

”Was he very much cut up about it?”

”He didn't whine. But he's got an ugly wound somewhere about him.

Curious man, Langley Wyndham. I haven't got to the bottom of him yet; and I flatter myself I know most men. My diagnosis is generally pretty correct. He's a very interesting type.”

”Very,” said Audrey below her breath. The novelist knitted her brows and fell into a reverie. Her interest in Langley Wyndham was not a purely professional one. Audrey reflected too. ”Just about this time last year.

That might account for things.” She would have liked to ask more; but further discussion of his history was cut short by the entrance of Wyndham himself, followed by the rest.

Mr. Flaxman Reed was the first to take the empty seat by Audrey's side.

He remembered the talk he had with her at Oxford--that talk which had provoked Wyndham's sarcastic comments. Himself a strange compound of intellectual subtilty and broad simplicity of character, he had taken Audrey's utterances in good faith. She had spoken to him of spiritual things, in one of those moments of self-revelation which, he knew well, come suddenly to those--especially to women--whose inner life is troubled. But this was not the atmosphere to revive such themes in. He had no part in Audrey's and in Wyndham's world,--the world which cared nothing for the principles he represented, those two great ideals which he served in his spirit and his body--the unity of the Church and the celibacy of the priesthood. But Audrey interested him. He had first met, last seen her, during a spiritual and intellectual crisis. He had stood alone then, severed from those dearest to him by troubled seas of controversy; and a word, a look, had pa.s.sed which showed that she, this woman, sympathised with him. It was enough; there still clung to her the grave and tender a.s.sociations of that time.

To-night the woman was unable to give him her whole-hearted attention.

Audrey was disturbed and preoccupied. Ted was lounging at the back of her chair, hanging on her words; Wyndham and Miss Armstrong were sitting on the other side of her, and she felt herself straining every nerve to catch what they were saying.

”Yes,” said Miss Armstrong in the tone of a proud parent, ”'Through Fire to Moloch' was my first. In that book I threw down the gauntlet to Society. It shrugged its shoulders and took no notice. My second, 'Sour Grapes,' was a back-hander in its face. It shrieked that time, but it read 'Sour Grapes.'”

”Which at once increased the demand for 'Through Fire to Moloch.' I congratulate you.”

Miss Armstrong ignored the impertinent parenthesis. ”The critics abused me, but I expected that. They are men, and it was the men I exposed----”

Knowles, who was standing near, smiled, and blushed when he caught himself smiling. Wyndham laughed frankly at his confusion, and Audrey grew hot and cold by turns. What was the dreadful joke those two had about Miss Armstrong? She leaned back and looked up at Ted sweetly.

”Ted, I should like to introduce you to Mr. Knowles. He'll tell you all about that ill.u.s.trated 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 ill.u.s.trated 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.”

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