‘Ackroyd?  The young man of critical aspect?’

’The same.  He has now missed two lectures, and I don’t think he’ll come again.’

‘Have you spoken to Bower about him?’

’No.  The fact is, my impressions of Bower have continued to grow unfavourable.  Plainly, he cares next to nothing for the lectures.  There is a curious pomposity about him, too, which grates upon me.  I shouldn’t have been at all sorry if he had been the seceder; he’s bored terribly, I know, yet he naturally feels bound to keep his place.  But I’m very sorry that Ackroyd has gone; he has brains, and I wanted to get to know him.  I shall not give him up; I must persuade him to come and have a talk with me.’

‘What of Mr. Grail?’

’Ah, Grail is faithful.  Yes, Grail is the man of them all; that I am sure of.  I am going to ask him to stay after the lecture to-morrow.  I haven’t spoken privately with him yet.  But I think I can begin now to establish nearer relations with two or three of them.  I have been lecturing for just a couple of months; they ought to know something of me by this time, On the whole, I think I am succeeding.  But if there is one of them on whom I found great hopes, it is Grail.  The first time I saw him, I knew what a distinction there was between him and the others.  He seems to be a friend of Ackroyd’s, too; I must try to get at Ackroyd by means of him.’

‘Is he—­Grail, I mean—­a married man?’

’I really don’t know.  Yet I should think so.  I shouldn’t be surprised if he were unhappily married.  Certainly there is some great trouble in his life.  Sometimes he looks terribly worn, quite ill.’

‘And Mr. Bunce?’ she asked, with a look of peculiar interest.

’Poor Bunce is also a good deal of a mystery to me.  He, too, always looks more or less miserable, and I’m afraid his interest is not very absorbing.  Still, he takes notes, and now and then even puts an intelligent question.’

’He has not attacked you on the subject of religion yet.

’Oh, no!  We still have that question to fight out.  But of course I must know him very well before I approach it.  I think he bears me goodwill; I caught him looking at me with a curious sort of cordiality the other night.’

‘I must have that little girl of his down again,’ Mrs. Ormonde said.  ’I wonder whether she still reads that insufferable publication.  By-the-by, I found you had told them the story at Ullswater.’

‘Yes.  It came up a propos of my scheme.’

A gong sounded down below.

‘Twelve o’clock’ remarked Mrs. Ormonde.  ’My birds are going to their dinner—­poor little town sparrows!  We’ll let them get settled, then go and have a peep at them—­shall we?’

‘Yes, I should like to see them—­and,’ he added pleasantly, ’to see the look on your face when you watch them.’

‘I have much to thank them for, Walter,’ she said, earnestly.  ’They brighten many an hour when I should be unhappy.’