All this would, he felt, advance the cause which he had at heart; for he was thoroughly sincere in his belief that the views which he advocated in “Revised Versions” were calculated to place the Church on a firmer basis, and to cause it to appeal to those persons who, having been inculcated with the spirit of modern scientific inquiry, never entered a church porch.

He had not been guilty of an empty boast when he had expressed to her his readiness to die for the principles which he had enunciated with considerable clearness in his book; but, at the same time, when he was walking down Piccadilly he could not avoid the feeling that if he were only subjected to a vigorous persecution—­a high-class persecution, of course, with the bishop at the head of it, he would be almost certain to win back Phyllis.  Her desertion of him was undoubtedly a blow to him; but he thought that, after all, it was not unnatural that such as girl as she should be somewhat frightened at the boldness of the book which he had published.  He had seen the day, not so very long ago, when he would have been frightened at it himself.  At any rate he felt sure that Phyllis would be able to differentiate between the case of the author of “Revised Versions” and the case of the mediocre clergyman who defied his bishop on a question of—­what was the question?—­something concerning the twirling of his thumbs from east to west, instead of from west to east; yes, or an equally trivial matter.  He trusted that she was too discriminating a girl to bracket him with that wretched, shallow-minded person who endeavored to pose as a martyr, because he would not be permitted to do whatever he tried to insist on doing.  Mr. Holland thought it had something to say to the twirling of his thumbs at a certain part of the service for the day, but if anyone had said that his memory was at fault—­that the contumacious curate only wanted to make some gestures at the psychological, or, perhaps, the spiritual, moment, he would not have been surprised.  He had always thought that curate a very silly person.  He thanked his God that he was not such a man, and he thought that he might trust Phyllis to understand the difference between the position which he assumed and the posturing of the silly curate.

His knowledge of her powers of discrimination was not at fault.  Phyllis never for a moment thought of him as posturing.  She did him more than justice.  She regarded him as terribly in earnest; no man unless one who was terribly in earnest could have written that book—­a book which she felt was bound to alienate from him all the people who had previously honored him and delighted to listen to his preaching.  Someone had said in her hearing that the preaching of George Holland was, compared to the preaching of the average clergyman, as the electric light is to the gas—­the gas of a street lamp.  She had flushed with pleasure,—­that had been six months ago,—­when it first occurred to her that to be the wife of a distinguished clergyman, who was also a scholar, was the highest vocation to which a woman could aspire.  She had told her father of this testimony to the ability of the rector of St. Chad’s—­pride had been in her voice and eyes.