Then he looked round him, at the faces of the women present. He scarcely knew any of them. Was she among them--the lady of Barron's tale? He thought of the story as he might have thought of the plot of a novel. When medieval charters were not to be had, it made an interesting subject of speculation. And Barron could not have confided it to any one in the diocese, so discreet--so absolutely discreet--as he. * * * * * "I gather this Movement of yours is rapidly becoming formidable?" said Norham to his companion. He spoke with the affectation of interest that all politicians in office must learn. But there was no heart in it, and Meynell wondered why the great man had desired to speak with him at all. He replied that the growth of the Movement was certainly a startling fact. "It is now clear that we must ultimately go to Parliament. The immediate result in the Church courts is of course not in doubt. But our hope lies in such demonstrations in the country as may induce Parliament"--he paused, laying a quiet emphasis on each word--"to reconsider--and resettle--the conditions of membership and office in the English Church." "Good heavens!" cried Norham, throwing up his hand--"What a prospect! If that business once gets into the House of Commons, it'll have everything else out." "Yes. It's big enough to ask for time--and take it." Norham suppressed a slight yawn as he turned in his chair. "The House of Commons, alas!--never shows to advantage in an ecclesiastical debate. You'd think it was in the condition of Sydney Smith with a cold--not sure whether there were nine Articles and Thirty-Nine Muses--or the other way on!" Meynell looked at the Secretary of State in silence--his eyes twinkling. He had heard from various friends of this touch of insolence in Norham. He awaited its disappearance. Edward Norham was a man still young; under forty indeed, though marked prematurely by hard work and hard fighting. His black hair had receded on the temples, and was obviously thinning on the crown of the head; he wore spectacles, and his shoulders had taken the stoop of office work. But the eyes behind the spectacles lost nothing that they desired to see; and the general impression was one of bull-dog strength, which could be impertinent and aggressive, and could also masque itself in a good humour and charm by no means insincere. In his political career, he was on the eve of great things; and he would owe them mainly to a power of work, supreme even in these hard-driven days. This power of work enabled him to glean in many fields, and keep his eye on many chances that his colleagues perforce neglected. The Modernist Movement was one of these chances. For years he had foreseen great changes ahead in the relations of Church and State, and this group of men seemed to be forcing the pace.