The face that he spoke to was none the less beautiful that its owner was frightened at his vehemence. It continued to be--to this fool of a man who had not the courage to run away from it, but who was not at liberty to love it--the face of six months ago that had been growing on him ever since. He would almost have been thankful--though he would not confess it to himself--for visible flaws in it; a squint, a twist, an artificial tooth or two betraying their extraction, or their predecessors'. A wig would have spelt salvation, as the Press puts it. As for Judith, she was perfectly alive, by now, to the sub-intents of meaning woven into Challis's speech, for the easement of a feeling he could neither tell nor conceal. "Let us forget it all!" was so overtense in emphasis, if referring only to a disappointment about a part in a play, that it scarcely left room for an equable society response. Her tone of voice had to keep at bay any hint of a meaning that might have betrayed both into a recognition of the precipice they were so close to. As might have been expected, she lost her presence of mind, and overdid it. "I can't see any occasion for hysterics about it," said she. "Of course, I am awfully sorry, and all that sort of thing. But we live in a world, after all! And I suppose one must sometimes accommodate one's views to the necessities of Society.... Oh dear!--these people are quite close." She referred to their near approach to the assembled tea-drinkers, some of whom, at peace with all mankind under its influence, were scattering abroad through the neighbouring woods and dingles, discussing religious education and the fighting power of nations, pigeon-shooting, and Psychical Research. "We came away from the tree too soon," Challis said. "Can't we turn?..." "Suppose we do. We can go round the coppice.... What was I saying? Oh--about Society! Don't you think it is so? One has to reckon with one's Social Duties. So I'm told." "We could have thought of Society before," Challis said, rather sullenly. And then he felt brutal. "No, Judith Arkroyd, I won't say that. Forgive me! All I mean is--it was all just as true--what you say about Society--six months ago as it is now. The mistake was then." A small thing in his speech unnerved Judith--the way he used her full name. This was the second time he had done so. It seemed to imply some new aspect of their relation--the throwing aside of some veil--the recognition of some discarded formality. She was no longer "Miss Arkroyd"; and "Judith" would have been either patronage or impertinence. In her case there was no professional name to build a half-way house to familiarity on. She dropped her worldly tone as misplaced or useless, as she said: "I had at one time half thought I would leave you to finish the play before I cried off. But should I have done you any service? I thought not, in the end, and I wished to get it over."