They parted then, and as soon as she decently could, Judith assured Mrs. Weidely of the "perfectly delightful" evening she had had, and went home. It was a long time before she could sleep. She spent the morning wandering restlessly through the house. Was she always, she asked herself again and again, to be subject to the influence of others? Was she never to act for herself? Of the influence of Good upon her, she was quite conscious. But that, she sensed, could never be again as it was before that afternoon at Braeburn. When the snow began to fall, it had ended his call, the call of the dreamer. He had given her all he had. It was not enough. Now came the call of the doer. Would that end in time, as the other had ended, and would she then go ahead for herself, not the puppet of Brent Good nor the aid of Mrs. Dodson, but Judith Wynrod, free agent? She wondered, and wondered. There was no answer. At length, when she could endure the house no longer, she went out for a walk in the frosty air. She had an hour or two before going to Mrs. Dodson's. The sun was shining brightly, but it was cold, and she had to walk rapidly. Before she knew it, she was well into the Park, and a little tired. A bench, in the sun and sheltered from the wind, attracted her, and still in a reverie, she sat down. Presently she became conscious that she was being addressed. A young man had seated himself beside her. "Arnold," she cried. "Why--I'd never know you...." "Yes," he said placidly. "I have changed, haven't I?" As he spoke she realised that he no longer wore the clerical collar, and that he was garbed in a grey suit of distinctly fashionable cut and colour, instead of the sombre black she had always seen him in before. Also, to her amazement, she noted that he wore a red tie. Perhaps it was merely the change of costume, but he seemed years younger than he had ever seemed before. His face was ruddier, his eyes had more sparkle, his smile was easier. "But why--what is the cause--what's happened--what's the meaning of all this?" she stammered. "I've moved fast since we last met. As a matter of fact, Judith, you're looking on a perfect stranger!" "That's obvious--but why--what--I don't understand." "In the first place I'm not a clergyman any more--for which there is no rejoicing: but in the second, I'm not a prig any more--for which there is...." "Arnold--you've really left the Church?" "Or it's left me--the result's the same," he said quite cheerfully. "But what caused it? I heard you had resigned--everybody talked about it--but why?" "I don't suppose you ever saw a 'slide' at Panama?" She shook her head, wondering. "Well, first a piece of rock, perhaps no bigger than your fist, slips out of place. That moves another and another and another, until before you can whistle twice, a pile of earth that has seemed as fixed as time is as flat as the back of your hand.