"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 ill.u.s.trated 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!"

"I hope you will like him. We saw a good deal of him in Italy, and will probably see a good deal of him here."

"I'm certain to like him: you like him."

"Ah, that's what you said to the young women who put off their colors and took to sackcloth in the presence of Mr. Holland. Don't be too sure that you will like any man because other women like him. Now, I have, as usual, remained too long with you. I'm greatly impressed with the situation of the moment. I don't say that I think you are wrong, mind you. Girls should always be on the side of the Bible. At any rate you have, I repeat, _la physionomie du role_, and you can't be far astray if you act up to it. Good-bye, my dearest."

CHAPTER VII.

THE DEFENSE OF HOLLAND.

Ella Linton drove to a certain shop not far from Piccadilly,--the only shop where the arranging of feathers is treated as a science independent of the freaks of fashion,--and at the door she met a tall man with the complexion of mahogany but with fair hair and mustache. People nudged one another and whispered his name as they walked past him before standing at the shop window, pretending to admire the feathers, but in reality to glance furtively round at the man.

The name that they whispered to one another after the nudge was Herbert Courtland.

He took off his hat--it was a tall silk one, but no one who knew anything could avoid feeling that it should have been a solar toupee--when Mrs. Linton stepped from her victoria.

"Oh, you here!" said she. "Who on earth would expect to see you here?"

"You," said he.

"What?"

"You asked me a question. I answered it."

She laughed as they walked together to the door of the feather shop.

"It appears to me that you have a very good opinion of yourself and a very bad one of me," she remarked, smiling up to his face.

"That's just where you make a mistake," said he.

"How?"

"If I did not think well of you I should not have ordered Parkinson to make you a fan of the tail of the meteor."

"Oh, Bertie, you have done that?"

"Why should I not do it?"

"But it is the only one in the world."

"Ah, that's just it. You are the only one in the world."

She laughed again, looking up to his face.

"Well, we'll have a look at it, anyway," said she.

They went into the shop to see the tail feathers of that wonderful meteor-bird which Herbert Courtland had just brought back from New Guinea with him--the most glorious thing that nature had produced and a great explorer had risked his life to acquire, in order that Mrs. Linton might have a unique feathered fan.

About the same time the Rev. George Holland met in the same thoroughfare his friend and patron, the Earl of Earlscourt.

"By the Lord Harry, you've done for yourself now, my hearty!" cried the earl. "What the blazes do you mean by attacking the Word of G.o.d in that fashion?"

"Tommy," said the Rev. George Holland, smiling a patronizing smile at his patron, "Tommy, my friend, if you take my advice you'll not meddle with what doesn't concern you. You're a peer; better leave the Word of G.o.d to me. I'm not a peer, but a parson."

"I'll not leave it with you; it isn't safe," said the peer. "Anything more d.a.m.nably atheistical than that book of yours I never read."

"And you didn't read it, Thomas; you know you only read a screeching review of it, and you didn't even read that through," said the parson.

"Who told you that?" asked the patron. "Well, at any rate I read what you said about Ruth. It was quite scandalous! Ruth! Good Lord! what character is safe nowadays? One of the loveliest of the women of the Bible--my wife says so. She knows all about them. And the best painters in the world have shown her standing among the field of oats. By the Lord, sir, it's sheer blasphemy! and worse than that, it's making people--good, religious people, mind, not the ruck--it's making them ask why the blazes I gave you the living. It's a fact."

"I'm sorry for you, Tommy--very sorry. I'm also sorry for your good religious people, and particularly sorry for the phraseology of their earnest inquiries on what I am sure is a matter of life and death to them--spiritually. That's my last word, Thomas."

"And you were doing so well at the Joss-house, too." Lord Earlscourt was shaking his head sorrowfully, as he spoke. "We were all getting on so comfortably. That was what people said to me--they said----"

"Pardon me, I'm a parson, therefore I'm not particular; but I can't stand the way your good religious people express themselves."

"They said, 'It's so d---- pleasant to get hold of a parson who can be trusted in the pulpit--sermons with a good healthy moral tone, and so forth. You might bring your youngest daughter to St. Chad's in the certainty that she would hear nothing that would make her ask uncomfortable questions when she got home.' It's a fact, they said that; and now you go and spoil all. The bishop will have a word to say to you some of these days, my lad. He ran away to the Continent, they tell me, when your book was published, and it's perfectly well known that he never runs away unless things look serious. When the bishop is serious, those that can't swim had best take to the boats."

"I'll ask you for a seat in your yacht, Tommy. Meantime kindest regards to her ladyship."

"Oh! by the way, it's not true, is it, that the girl has thrown you over on account of the book?"

For an instant there came a little flush to the face of the Rev. George Holland; then he shifted his umbrella from one hand to the other, saying:

"If you mean Phyllis, all I can say in reply is that she is the best and the truest girl alive at present. I've an engagement at a quarter-past six."

"Well, good-by. It was my missus who said that the girl would throw you over on account of that book."