typical artist. Yet I believe he is a clever painter in the modern style. I know very little of painting myself.
It was only natural that on this particular evening he should appear a shade distrait . On the whole, he carried off things very well. I don’t think Griselda or Dennis noticed anything wrong. Probably I should not have noticed anything myself if I had not known beforehand.
Griselda and Dennis were particularly gay—full of jokes about Dr. Stone and Miss Cram—the Local Scandal! It suddenly came home to me with something of a pang that Dennis is nearer Griselda’s age than I am. He calls me Uncle Len, but her Griselda. It gave me, somehow, a lonely feeling.
I must, I think, have been upset by Mrs. Protheroe. I’m not usually given to such unprofitable reflections.
Griselda and Dennis went rather far now and then, but I hadn’t the heart to check them. I have always thought it a pity that the mere presence of a clergyman should have a dampening effect.
Lawrence took a gay part in the conversation. Nevertheless I was aware of his eyes continually straying to where I sat, and I was not surprised when after dinner he manoeuvred to get me into the study.
As soon as we were alone his manner changed. His face became grave and anxious. He looked almost haggard.
“You’ve surprised our secret, sir,” he said. “What are you going to do about it?”
I could speak far more plainly to Redding than I could to Mrs. Protheroe, and I did so. He took it very well.
“Of course,” he said, when I had finished, “you’re bound to say all this. You’re a parson. I don’t mean that in any way offensively. As a matter of