“I saw that you were troubled by something.”

“Something!  It was that.  My poor wife was thoroughly upset by it.  You know how sensitive women are.  To hold a crowd of people a man must be strong and well, in full possession of his powers.  And I had a good subject.”

“Splendid.”

“I’ll treat it again—­treat it again.”

The rector shifted in his chair.

“Do you think,” he said after a pause, “that it is possible for another, an outsider, to know a man better than he knows himself?”

“In some cases, yes,” answered Malling.

“But—­as a rule?”

“There is the saying that outsiders see most of the game.”

“Then why should we mind when all are subject to criticism!” exclaimed Mr. Harding, forcibly.

Evidently he was startled by his own outburst, for instantly he set about to attenuate it.

“What I mean is that men ought not to care so much as most of them undoubtedly do what others think about them.”

“It certainly is a sign of great weakness to care too much,” said Malling.  “But some people have a quite peculiar power of impressing their critical thoughts on others.  These spread uneasiness around them like an atmosphere.”

“I know, I know,” said the rector, with an almost hungry eagerness.  “Now surely one ought to keep out of such an atmosphere, to get out of it, and to keep out of it.”

“Why not?”

“But—­but—­how extraordinary it is, the difficulty men have in getting away from things!  Haven’t you noticed that?”

“Want of moral strength,” said Mailing, laconically.

“You think so?”

“Don’t you?”

At this moment there was a knock at the door.  Mr. Harding started.

“How impossible it is to get a quiet moment,” he said with acute irritation.  “Come in!” he called out.

The footman appeared.

“Mr. Chichester has called to see you, sir.”

The rector’s manner changed.  He beckoned to the man to come into the room and to shut the door.  The footman, looking surprised, obeyed.

“Where is he, Thomas?” asked Mr. Harding, in a lowered voice.  “In the hall?”

“No, sir.  As you were engaged I showed him up into the drawing-room.”

“Oh, very well.  Thank you.  You can go.”

The footman went out, still looking surprised.

Just as he was about to close the door his master said: 

“Wait a moment!”

“Sir?”

“Was her ladyship in the drawing-room?”

“No, sir.  Her ladyship is lying down in the boudoir.”

“Ah.  That will do.”

The footman shut the door.

Directly he was gone the rector got up with an air of decision.