To say that she had compelled him, the rector of St. John’s, at last to look in the face many conditions which he had refused to recognize would be too definite a statement.  Nevertheless, some such thing had occurred.  Refutations sprang to his lips, and died there, though he had no notion of uttering them.  He saw that to admit her contentions would be to behold crumble into ruins the structure that he had spent a life in rearing; and yet something within him responded to her words—­they had the passionate, convincing ring of truth.

By no means the least of their disturbing effects was due to the fact that they came as a climax to, as a fulfilment of the revelation he had had at the Fergusons’, when something of the true nature of Mr. Plimpton and others of his congregation had suddenly been laid bare.  And now Hodder looked at Eldon Parr to behold another man from the one he had known, and in that moment realized that their relationship could never again be the same. . .  Were his sympathies with the daughter?

“I don’t know what I believe,” said Alison, after a pause.  “I’ve ceased trying to find out.  What’s the use!” She appeared now to be addressing no one in particular.

A servant entered with a card, and the banker’s hand shook perceptibly as he put down his claret and adjusted his glasses.

“Show him into my office upstairs, and tell him I’ll see him at once,” he said, and glanced at the rector.  But it was Alison whom he addressed.  “I must leave Mr. Hodder to answer your arguments,” he added, with an attempt at lightness; and then to the rector:  “Perhaps you can convince her that the Church is more sinned against than sinning, and that Christians are not such terrible monsters after all.  You’ll excuse me?”

“Certainly.”  Hodder had risen.

II

“Shall we have coffee in the garden?” Alison asked.  “It’s much nicer outside this time of year.”

For an instant he was at a loss to decide whether to accede, or to make an excuse and leave the house.  Wisdom seemed to point to flight.  But when he glanced at her he saw to his surprise that the mood of abstraction into which she had fallen still held her; that the discussion which had aroused Eldon Parr to such dramatic anger had left her serious and thoughtful.  She betrayed no sense of triumph at having audaciously and successfully combated him, and she appeared now only partially to be aware of Hodder’s presence.  His interest, his curiosity mounted suddenly again, overwhelming once more the antagonism which he had felt come and go in waves; and once more his attempted classification of her was swept away.  She had relapsed into an enigma.

“I like the open air,” he answered, “and I have always wished to see the garden.  I have admired it from the windows.”

“It’s been on my mind for some years,” she replied, as she led the way down a flight of steps into the vine-covered pergola.  “And I intend to change parts of it while I am out here.  It was one of my first attempts, and I’ve learned more since.”