"Come in. Do come in," urged Mr. Moze at the door of the study.

Audrey, who remained on the landing, heard her elders talk smoothly of
grave Mozian things, while Mr. Moze unlocked the new tin box above the
safe.

"I'd forgotten a most important paper," said he, as he relocked the box. "I
have an appointment with the Bishop of Colchester at ten-forty-five, and I
fear I may be late. Will you excuse me, Miss Ingate?"

She excused him.

Departing, he put the paper into his pocket with a careful and loving
gesture that well symbolised his passionate affection for the Society of
which he was already the vice-chairman. He had been a member of the
National Reformation Society for eleven years. Despite the promise of its
name, this wealthy association of idealists had no care for reforms in a
sadly imperfect England. Its aim was anti-Romanist. The Reformation which
it had in mind was Luther's, and it wished, by fighting an alleged
insidious revival of Roman Catholicism, to make sure that so far as England
was concerned Luther had not preached in vain.

Mr. Moze's connection with the Society had originated in a quarrel between
himself and a Catholic priest from Ipswich who had instituted a boys'
summer camp on the banks of Mozewater near the village of Moze. Until that
quarrel, the exceeding noxiousness of the Papal doctrine had not clearly
presented itself to Mr. Moze. In such strange ways may an ideal come to
birth. As Mr. Moze, preoccupied and gloomy once more, steered himself
rapidly out of Moze towards the episcopal presence, the image of the
imperturbable and Jesuitical priest took shape in his mind, refreshing his