“Impossible,” said Hartley, with decision.  “He was a big, fair Englishman with blue eyes.  Nothing on earth could have made him look anything else.  It was too risky to attempt that game.”

Mrs. Wilder was not interested in Rydal, and she sprayed Coryndon with light, pointless conversation, leaving Heath to his meditations for the moment.  Hartley would have enjoyed a private talk with his hostess because he loved her platonically, and because it was impossible he was distrait and jerky, trying to appear cordial towards Heath.  It was one of those evenings that make everyone concerned wonder why they ever began it, and though Coryndon was of all the invited guests the one who found least favour in the eyes of his hostess, he was the only one who felt glad that he had come, and was perfectly convinced that it had been worth it.

The Rev. Francis Heath rose early to take his leave; and there was a distinct impression of relief when he had gone.

“That Padre is like wet blotting-paper,” said Wilder, when he came back into the drawing-room.  “No more duty invitations, Clarice, or else wait until I am out in camp.”

“He is a bore,” said Mrs. Wilder, throwing her late guest to the sharks without remorse.  “But I suppose he can’t help it.  He may have something to worry him.”  She just indicated her point with a glance at Hartley, who murmured incoherently and became interested in his drink.

“Parsons are all alike,” said Wilder, who fully believed that he stated an obvious fact.  “I feel as if I ought to apologize for not going to church whenever I meet one.”

“He is a bore,” repeated Mrs. Wilder.  “But he is finished with for the present.”

Coryndon looked up.

“I suppose one is inclined to mix up a man with his profession, as people often mix up nationalities with races, forgetting that they are absolutely apart.  Heath is not my idea of a clergyman.”

“And what is your idea?” asked Mrs. Wilder, with a smile that was slightly encouraging.

“A man with less temperament,” said Coryndon slowly.  “Heath lacks a certain commonplace courage, because he feels things too much.  He is not altogether honest with himself or his congregation, because he has the protective instinct over-developed.  If I had a secret I should feel that it was perfectly safe with Heath.”

A slow red stain showed itself on Mrs. Wilder’s cheek, and she gave a hard, mechanical laugh.

“Are these the deductions of one evening?  No wonder you are a silent man, Mr. Coryndon.”

If Coryndon had been a cross-examining counsel instead of a guest at a dinner-party, he would have thanked Mrs. Wilder politely and told her that she might “step down.”  As it was, he assured her that he was only attracted by certain personalities, and that, usually speaking, he did not analyse his impressions.

“He is a bore,” said Mrs. Wilder, making the statement for the third time that evening, and thus disposing of Heath definitely.