'Never mind; let it be Annabel between us,' said Mrs. Ormonde, seating herself near the fire. 'I tried to, but she was not fervent. All the same, it is just possible, I think, that they may come. Mr. Newthorpe needs society, however content he may believe himself. Annabel, to my surprise, does really seem independent of such aids. How wonderfully she has grown since I saw her two years ago! No, no, I don't mean physically--though that is also true--but how her mind has grown! Even her letters hadn't quite prepared me for what I found.' Egremont was leaning on the back of a chair, his hands folded together. He kept silence, and Mrs. Ormonde, with a glance at him, added: 'But she is something less than human at present. Probably that will last for another year or so.' 'Less than human?' 'Abstract, impersonal. With the exception of her father, you were the only living person of whom she voluntarily spoke to me.' 'She spoke of me?' 'Very naturally. Your accounts of Lambeth affair interest her deeply, though again in rather too--what shall we call it?--too theoretical a way. But that comes of her inexperience.' 'Still she at least speaks of me.' Mrs. Ormonde could have made a discouraging rejoinder. She said nothing for a moment, her eyes fixed on the fire. Then: 'But now for your own news.' 'What I have is unsatisfactory. A week ago the class suffered a secession. You remember my description of Ackroyd?' 'Ackroyd? The young man of critical aspect?' 'The same. He has now missed two lectures, and I don't think he'll come again.' 'Have you spoken to Bower about him?' 'No. The fact is, my impressions of Bower have continued to grow unfavourable. Plainly, he cares next to nothing for the lectures. There is a curious pomposity about him, too, which grates upon me. I shouldn't have been at all sorry if he had been the seceder; he's bored terribly, I know, yet he naturally feels bound to keep his place. But I'm very sorry that Ackroyd has gone; he has brains, and I wanted to get to know him. I shall not give him up; I must persuade him to come and have a talk with me.' 'What of Mr. Grail?' 'Ah, Grail is faithful. Yes, Grail is the man of them all; that I am sure of. I am going to ask him to stay after the lecture to-morrow. I haven't spoken privately with him yet. But I think I can begin now to establish nearer relations with two or three of them. I have been lecturing for just a couple of months; they ought to know something of me by this time, On the whole, I think I am succeeding. But if there is one of them on whom I found great hopes, it is Grail. The first time I saw him, I knew what a distinction there was between him and the others. He seems to be a friend of Ackroyd's, too; I must try to get at Ackroyd by means of him.' 'Is he--Grail, I mean--a married man?'