“But they were, and they are to be restored to their own land,” said Phyllis.

“Are they, my dear?  I should like to see the prospectus of that enterprise.”

“You are mocking, papa.  They are to be restored; it says so in the Bible quite clearly.”

“I am not mocking, Phyllis.  If gold is discovered in Palestine, the Jews may go there in some numbers; but, take my word for it, they won’t go otherwise.  They couldn’t live in their own land, assuming that it is their own, which is going pretty far.  Palestine wouldn’t support all the Jews alive at present; it’s a wretched country—­I know it well.  Besides, they don’t want to return to it, and furthermore, we couldn’t spare them.”

“I believe in the Bible, and I have faith,” said Phyllis firmly.

“That’s right,” said her father.  “I hope you may always hold to both.  I think that those girls who expect to be regarded as advanced, because they scoff at the Bible and at faith, are quite horrid.  I also hope that you will not eventually marry an infidel.”

“That would be impossible,” said Phyllis firmly.

“Would it?” said her father.  “There is a stronger influence at work in most of us, at times, than religion.  I wonder if it will make a victim of you, my child, though you did send George Holland about his business.”

“I don’t quite know what you mean,” said Phyllis, with only the slightest possible flush.

And she did not know what he meant until six months had passed; but then she knew.

Seeing that she did not know what he meant, her father thanked Heaven that Heaven had given him a daughter who was unlike other daughters.  He prayed that she might never become like other daughters.  He thought that it would be good for his daughter to remain without experience of those overwhelming passions which make up the life of a woman and a man.

Phyllis went out a good deal during the week, and everywhere she found herself looked at with interest; sometimes she found herself being examined through a pince-nez as if she were a curious specimen, and a woman or two smiled derisively at her.  She did not know what was meant by their curiosity—­their derision—­until one day an old lady named Mrs. Haddon went up to her and kissed her, saying: 

“I made up my mind that I would kiss you, my dear, the first chance I had.  God bless you, my child!  You have given your testimony as a woman should, in these days of scoffing at the truth.”

“Testimony?” said Phyllis, quite puzzled.  Had not her father felt a thrill of gratitude on reflecting that she had none of the qualities of the prig about her?  “Testimony?”

“You have testified to the truth, Miss Ayrton, and you shall have your reward.  You have shown that the truth is more to you than—­than love—­the love of man—­all that women hold sweet in life.  You are right Miss Ayrton; and all true women must love and respect you.”