“No ‘buts’ come into the case,” went on the young girl, her eyes darkening with the earnestness of her thoughts—­“I have seen quite enough even in my time to know how good and kind to one another even the poorest people can be.  And I have had plenty of hardships to endure, too!  But I can tell you one thing—­and that is, that the Christian ‘myth’ as you call it, is just the one thing that makes my life worth living!  I don’t want to talk about religion—­I never do,- -I only just say this—­that the great lesson of Christianity is exactly what we most need to learn.”

“In what way?” asked Julian, smiling indulgently.

“Why,—­merely that if one is honest and true, one must be crucified.  Therefore one is prepared,—­and there’s no need to cry out when the nails are driven in.  The Christian ‘myth’ teaches us what to expect, how to endure, and how at last to triumph!”

A lovely light illuminated her face, and Maryllia looked at her very tenderly.  Adderley was silent.

“Nothing does one so much good as to be hurt,”—­went on Cicely in a lighter tone—­“You then become aware that you are a somebody whom other bodies envy.  You never know how high you have climbed till you feel a few dirty hands behind you trying to pull you down!  When I start my career as a singer, I shall not be satisfied till I get anonymous letters every morning, telling me what a fraud and failure I am.  Then I shall realise that I am famous!”

“Alas!” said Julian with a comically resigned air—­“I shall never be of sufficient importance for that!  No one would waste a penny stamp on me!  All I can ever hope to win is the unanimous abuse of the press.  That will at least give me an interested public!”

They laughed.

“Is Mr. Marius Longford a great friend of yours?” enquired Maryllia.

“Ah, that I cannot tell!” replied Julian—­“He may be friend, or he may be foe.  He writes for a great literary paper—­and is a member of many literary clubs.  He has produced three books—­all monstrously dull.  But he has a Clique.  Its members are sworn to praise Longford, or die.  Indeed, if they do not praise Longford, they become mysteriously exterminated, like rats or beetles.  I myself have praised Longford, lest I also get a dose of his unfailing poison.  He will not praise me—­but no matter for that.  If he would only abuse me!—­but he won’t!  His blame is far more valuable than his eulogy.  At present he stands like a kind of neutral whipping-post—­very much in my way!”

“He knows Lord Roxmouth, he tells me,”—­went on Maryllia; whereat Cicely’s sharp glance flashed at her inquisitively—­“Lord Roxmouth is by way of being a patron of the arts.”

The tone of her voice, slightly contemptuous, was not lost on Adderley.  He fancied he was on dangerous ground.

“I have never met Lord Roxmouth myself”—­he said—­“But I have heard Longford speak of him.  Longford however rather ‘makes’ for society.  I do not.  Longford is quite at home with dukes and duchesses—–­”