“No one except Ella Linton, and you know that I can keep nothing from her if we are to remain dearest friends.  Perhaps she knows already the limits of your belief, Mr. Courtland.”

“She does—­she does.”

At that moment Ella Linton came up with Lord Earlscourt.

“Has Mr. Courtland been telling you all about the bird of paradise?” she asked of Phyllis, while she waved the tail feathers of the loveliest of the birds of paradise before her face.

“The bird?—­not the bird,” laughed Phyllis.

“But the topic was paradise?” Ella joined in the laugh—­yes, to some extent.

“I talked of Adam—­the old one of that name,” said Mr. Courtland.

“And Eve—­the new one of that name,” said Phyllis.

“Theology is in the air!” cried Ella.  “Even the stage of a theater is not free from the taint.  It must be the case of Mr. Holland.  Where is Mr. Holland, by the way, Lord Earlscourt?”

“I haven’t seen him for some time.  He must have gone away.  I’m not Mr. Holland’s keeper, thank Heaven!” said Lord Earlscourt, with heartfelt devoutness.

“Now you know that everyone holds you accountable for what he has done!” said Ella.

“Then that’s just where everyone makes a mistake,” said he.  “Great Lord! is it your idea of British justice to persecute the wrong man?  Why doesn’t the bishop do his duty?  What do we pay him for?”

“We won’t abandon our charity at the call of theology,” said Ella.

“Theology—­represented by Lord Earlscourt,” said Mr. Courtland.

“You don’t know how I’ve been abused during the past fortnight, indeed you don’t,” moaned Lord Earlscourt.  “Why, there’s my own wife, she abused me like a cab-driver because George Holland had been with us on the platform when the Chinese teetotalers came here to protest against the public houses in England; she says that his backsliding will put back the cause a quarter of a century.  Then there are the other churchwardens; they look on me as if I had been making a suggestion to raffle the sacred plate.  George Holland has a run for his money, but I’ve had no fun out of it.”

“It does seem hard,” said Courtland.  “But it’s plain that the case calls for persecution, and why not persecute you?  Someone must be persecuted, you’ll admit.”

“Then why the—­”

“I thought that your good old Bunyip would look in on us before long,” said Courtland.  “There’s no possibility of discussing delicate points in theology without him.”

“I think we had better go home,” said Ella.

“We must have some consideration for our host,” said Courtland.  “We didn’t all play the part of Cagliostro to-night.”

During the movement of her circle and the adjustment of wraps, preparatory to the delivery of a valedictory word of congratulation to the great actor, Ella said in a low tone to Herbert Courtland: 

“Cagliostro?  No; we didn’t all play the part; but—­well, Cagliostro was a weaver of spells.”