‘Seen the Walworths lately?’ he asked, when his sister had assured him that she was not seriously ailing.

‘We called a few days ago.’

‘Meet anyone there?’

‘Two or three people.  No one that interested me.’

‘You haven’t come across some friends of theirs called Moxey?’

‘Oh yes!  Miss Moxey was there one afternoon about a fortnight ago.’

‘Did you talk to her at all?’ Buckland asked.

’Yes; we hadn’t much to say to each other, though.  How do you know of her?  Through Sylvia, I daresay.’

‘Met her when I was last down yonder.’

Sidwell had long since heard from her friend of Miss Moxey’s visit to Budleigh Salterton, but she was not aware that Buckland had been there at the same time.  Sylvia had told her, however, of the acquaintance existing between Miss Moxey and Peak, a point of much interest to her, though it remained a mere unconnected fact.  In her short conversation with Marcella, she had not ventured to refer to it.

‘Do you know anything of the family?’

‘I was going to ask you the same,’ returned Buckland.  ’I thought you might have heard something from the Walworths.’

Sidwell had in fact sought information, but, as her relations with the Walworths were formal, such inquiry as she could make from them elicited nothing more than she already knew from Sylvia.

‘Are you anxious to discover who they are?’ she asked.

Buckland moved uneasily, and became silent.

‘Oh, not particularly.’

‘I dined with Walsh yesterday,’ he said, at length, struggling to shake off the obvious dreariness that oppressed him.  ’He suits me; we can get on together.’

‘No doubt.’

‘But you don’t dislike him, I think?’

‘Implying that I dislike you,’ said Sidwell, lightsomely.

‘You have no affection for my opinions.—­Walsh is an honest man.’

‘I hope so.’

‘He says what he thinks.  No compromise with fashionable hypocrisy.’

‘I despise that kind of thing quite as much as you do.’

They looked at each other.  Buckland had a sullen air.

‘Yes, in your own way,’ he replied, ’you are sincere enough, I have no doubt.  I wish all women were so.

‘What exception have you in mind?’

He did not seem inclined to answer.

‘Perhaps it is your understanding of them that’s at fault,’ added Sidwell, gently.

‘Not in one case, at all events,’ he exclaimed.  ’Supposes you were asked to define Miss Moorhouse’s religious opinions, how would you do it?’

‘I am not well enough acquainted with them.’

’Do you imagine for a moment that she has any more faith in the supernatural than I have?’

’I think there is a great difference between her position and yours.’

‘Because she is hypocritical!’ cried Buckland, angrily.  ’She deceives you.  She hasn’t the courage to be honest.’