“My dear father, where would you be if you couldn’t steer through the Hazelborough prejudices now and again?  You can always say something so good as to make people not care which way it cuts.”

“What?  Oh, Phyllis!  I am ashamed of you.  Besides, the people of Hazelborough have got to be extremely sensitive.  They have caught the Nonconformist Conscience.  The bacillus of the Nonconformist Conscience was rampant a short time ago, and it has not yet been stamped out.  I’m afraid that I must have principle on my side—­some show of principle, at any rate—­not so wide as a church door or so deep as a well, but still——­”

“And you will, too, papa.  I’ll see Ella and get her to find out from Mr. Courtland what is the truth.”

“Well, perhaps it mightn’t be wise to rush into extremes all at once!  I wouldn’t insist on the truth, if I were you.  What’s the House of Commons that it should be cockered up with the truth?  All that is needed is enough to go on with.  An electro-plating of veracity is in keeping with the economic tendencies of the age.”

“I am not afraid of the truth,” cried Phyllis, without giving the cynicism of her father the tribute of a smile.  “Mr. Courtland would, I know, be incapable of doing anything unworthy of—­of——­”

“Let us say an explorer,” suggested her father.  He knew that the word which was in her mind was Englishman.  She only checked herself when her imagination caused her to perceive the average silk-hatted man with his tongue in his cheek at the utterance of the phrase.  “Let us say ‘unworthy of an explorer,’” repeated her father; “that is an elastic phrase.”

Phyllis was irritated.

“I have talked with him,” she said a trifle coldly.

“Yes,” said her father, “once.”

“I should have said that I know Ella.”

“And yet Ella is a woman!”

“Oh, the charges are too ridiculous!  Slaves!  What nonsense!  We all know what slavery is.  Well, where are his slaves now?  If he only hired the natives for a month or two they were only servants, not slaves.  The thing is manifestly ridiculous.”

“Then why should we trouble ourselves with the attempt to rebut it?”

“Because so many people are idiots nowadays,” cried Phyllis warmly.  “Because, no matter how ridiculous a charge which is brought against a distinguished person may be, some people will be found ready to believe in its truth.  Never mind; I’ll find out the truth; I’ll go to Ella.”

“The fountain-head indeed,” said Mr. Ayrton.  “When in search of the truth, go to a woman.”

“I will, at any rate,” said Phyllis.

And she went thither.

CHAPTER XII.

DYNAMITE—­SLAVE-DEALING—­MASSACRES—­ARMENIA!

Phyllis, of course, knew when to go to Ella with the certainty of finding her at home.  At the luncheon hour Mrs. Linton was always visible to the three friends whom she had within the confines of Mayfair.  She considered herself blessed among women in the numerical strength of her friendships; and so perhaps she was; she had three.