Although he had never been intimate with Henry Chichester, he had known him fairly well, and had summed him up as a very good man and a decidedly attractive man, but marred, as Malling thought, by a definite weakness of character. He had been too amiable, too ready to take others on their own valuation of themselves, too kind-hearted, and too easily deceived. The gentleness of a saint had been his, but scarcely the firmness of a saint. Industrious, dutiful, and conscientious, he had not struck Malling as a man of strong intellect, though he was a cultivated and well-educated man. Though not governed by his own passions,--when one looked at him one had been inclined to doubt whether he had any,--he had seemed prone to be governed by those about him, at any rate in little matters of every day. His charm had consisted in his transparent goodness, and in an almost gay kindliness which had seemed to float round him like an atmosphere. To look into his face had been to look at the happiness which comes only to those who do right things, and are at peace with their own souls. What could have happened to change this charming, if too pliant, personality into the critical, watchful, almost--so at moments it seemed to Malling--aggressive curate who was now, always in a gentlemanly way, making things rather difficult for his rector? And the matter became the more mysterious when Malling considered Mr. Harding. For here was a man obviously of dominant personality. Despite his fleeting subservience to Chichester, inexplicable to Malling, he was surely by far the stronger of the two, both in intellect and character. Not so saintly, perhaps, he was more likely to influence others. Firmness showed in his forcible chin, energy in the large lines of his mouth, decision in his clear-cut features. Yet there was something contradictory in his face. And the flitting melancholy, already remarked, surely hinted at some secret instability, perhaps known only to Harding himself, perhaps known to Chichester also. When the three men came to the turning at the corner of the Grosvenor Hotel, Chichester stopped short. "Here is our way," he said, speaking across Mr. Harding to Malling. The rector looked at Malling. "Have you far to go?" he asked, with rather a tentative air. "I live in Cadogan Square." "Of course. I remember. You told us you were going there." "Good-by," said Chichester. "We are taking the underground to South Kensington." "I think I shall walk," said the rector. "But you know we are due--" "There is plenty of time. Tell them I shall be there at four." "But really--" "Punctually at four. I will walk on with Mr. Malling." "I really think you had better not," began Chichester. "Over-exertion--" "Am I an invalid?" exclaimed Mr. Harding, almost sharply. "No, no, of course not. But you remember that yesterday you were not quite well." "That is the very reason why I wish to walk. Exercise always does my dyspepsia good."