"But you admit that there is really no evidence worthy of the name connecting Meynell with the story at all!" said Flaxman, turning upon him. "The crazy impression of a woman dying of brain disease--some gossip about Sir Ralph's will--a likeness that many people have never perceived! What does it amount to? Nothing!--nothing at all!--less than nothing!" "I can only say that I disagree with you." The voice was that of a rancorous obstinacy at last unveiled. "I believe that the woman's identification was a just one--though I admit that the proof is difficult. But then perhaps I approach the matter in one way, and you in another. A man, Mr. Flaxman, in my belief, does not throw over the faith of Christ for nothing! No! Such things are long prepared. Conscience, my dear sir, conscience breaks down first. The man becomes a hypocrite in his private life before he openly throws off the restraints of religion. That is the sad sequence of events. I have watched it many times." Flaxman had grown rather white. The man beside him seemed to him a kind of monstrosity. He thought of Meynell, of the eager refinement, the clean idealism, the visionary kindness of the man--and compared it with the "muddy vesture," mental and physical, of Meynell's accuser. Nevertheless, as he held himself in with difficulty he began to perceive more plainly than he had yet done some of the intricacies of the situation. "I have nothing to do," he said, in a tone that he endeavoured to make reasonably calm, "nor has anybody, with generalization of that kind, in a case like this. The point is--could Meynell, being what he is, what we all know him to be, have not only betrayed a young girl, but have then failed to do her the elementary justice of marrying her? And the reply is that the thing is incredible!" "You forget that Meynell was extremely poor, and had his brothers to educate--" Flaxman shrugged his shoulders in laughing contempt. "Meynell desert the mother of his child--because of poverty--because of his brothers' education!--_Meynell_! You have known him some years--I only for a few months. But go into the cottages here--talk to the people--ask them, not what he believes, but what he _is_--what he has been to them. Get one of them, if you can, to credit this absurdity!" "The Rector's intimate friendship with Miss Puttenham has long been an astonishment--sometimes a scandal--to the village!" exclaimed Barron, doggedly. Flaxman stared at him in a blank amazement, then flushed. He took a turn up and down the room, after which he returned to the fireside, composed. What was the use of arguing with such a disputant? He felt as though the mere conversation were an insult to Meynell, in which he was forced to participate. He took a seat deliberately, and put on his magisterial manner, which, however, was much more delicately and unassumingly authoritative than that of other men.