"Do you mean to say you didn't notice it?"

"I never met him till within the last fortnight."

"He's transformed--simply. He might have risen to anything, with his
energy, his ambition, and his connections. And now! But the worst of it
is no one can make out why it is. Even Sophia and Isinglass--my husband,
you know!--haven't an idea. And it gets worse every day. Last Sunday I
hear his sermon was too awful, a mere muddle of adjectives, such as one
hears in Hyde Park, I believe. I never liked Marcus particularly. I
always thought him too autocratic, too determined to dominate. He had
that poor little Mr. Chichester--his curate--completely under his thumb.
Mr. Chichester couldn't call his soul his own. He worshiped Marcus. But
now they say even he is beginning to think that his god is of clay. What
can it be? Do you think Marcus is losing his mind?"

"Oh, I should hope not," returned Malling, vaguely. "Has it been going on
long?"

"Oh, for quite a time. But it all seemed to come on gradually--as things
_do_, you know! Poor Sophy has always adored him, and given way to him in
everything. In her eyes all that he does is right. She never says a word,
I believe, but she must be suffering the tortures of--_you_ know! There's
Winnie Rufford coming in! How astonishingly young she looks. Were you at
the Huntingham's ball? Well--"

Lady Mansford twittered no more about the Harding menage. But Malling
felt that his visit had not been fruitless.