“Injustice?  Oh, Ella!”

“I say injustice.  Good gracious, child! cannot you see that if it becomes known that the girl who had promised to marry him has broken off her engagement to him simply because he has written that book, the interest that attaches to him on account of his unorthodoxy will be immeasurably increased?”

“I will not do him the injustice of fancying for a moment that he would be gratified on this account.  Whatever he may be, Ella, he is at least sincere and single-minded in his aims.”

“I have no doubt of it, my only joy.  But however sincere a man may be in his aims, he still cannot reasonably object to the distinction that is thrust upon him when he has done something out of the common.  The men who make books know that that sort of thing pays.  Someone told me the other day—­I believe it was Herbert Courtland—­that it is the men who write books embodying a great and noble aim who make the closest bargains with their publishers.  I heard of a great and good clergyman the other day who wrote a Life of Christ, and then complained in the papers of his publishers having only given him a miserable percentage on the profits.  That is how they talk nowadays; the profit resulting from the Life of Christ is to be measured in pounds, shillings, and pence.”

“Mr. Holland is not a man of this stamp, Ella.”

“I’m sure he is not.  At the same time if he isn’t prosecuted for heterodoxy no one will be more disappointed than Mr. Holland, unless, indeed, it be Mr. Holland’s publisher.  Who would begrudge the martyr his halo, dear?  Even the most sincere and single-minded martyr has an eye on that halo.  The halo of the up-to-date martyr is made up of afternoon teas provided by fair women, and full-page portraits in the illustrated papers.”

“And all this leads to—­what?”

“It leads to—­let me see—­oh, yes, it leads to your appearance at my little gathering.  Of course, you’ll come.  Believe me, you’ll not feel the least uncomfortable.  You will be The Girl who Sacrificed her Love for Conscience’ Sake.  That’s a good enough qualification for distinction on the part of any girl in these hard times.  But I might have known long ago that you would play this part.  That sweetly pathetic voice, with that firm mouth and those lovely soft gray eyes that would seem to a casual observer to neutralize the firmness of the mouth.  Oh, yes, my Phyllis, you have undoubtedly la physionomie du role.”

“What role?”

“The role of the girl who is on the side of the Bible.”

“I am certainly on the side of the Bible.”

“And so am I. So I will look for you to be by my side on Tuesday week, and as often as you please in the meantime.  By the way, you will probably meet Herbert Courtland at our house.  He is the New Guinea man, you know.”

“Of course I know.  You talk of wanting heroes in orthodoxy at your house, while you have Mr. Courtland, the New Guinea explorer, drinking his tea at your elbow?  Oh, go away!”