ast."

"But Jesus was a religious enthusiast," she protested.

"I doubt if there ever was such a person," he answered dryly.

"Why, the Bible--"

"Is the most unfortunate and most misunderstood piece of literature
ever written," he interrupted. "And the Church, well, I regard it as
the greatest fraud ever perpetrated upon the human race."

"You mean that to apply to every church?"

"It fits them all."

She studied his face for a few moments. He returned her glance as
steadily. But their thoughts were running in widely divergent
channels. The conversational topic of the moment had no interest
whatsoever for the man. But this brilliant, sparkling girl--there was
something in those dark eyes, that soft voice, that brown hair--by
what anomaly did this beautiful creature come out of desolate,
mediaeval Simiti?

"Mr. Ames, you do not know what religion is."

"No? Well, and what is it?"

"It is that which binds us to God."

"And that?"

"Love."

No, he knew not the meaning of the word. Or--wait--did he? His thought
broke restraint and flew wildly back--but he caught it, and rudely
forced it into its wonted channel. But, did he love his fellow-men?
Certainly not! What would that profit him in dollars and cents? Did he
love his wife? his children? The thought brought a cynical laugh to
his lips. Carmen looked up at him wonderingly. "You will have to, you
know," she said quixotically.

Then she reached out a hand and laid it on his. He looked down at it,
so soft, so white, so small, and he contrasted it with the huge, hairy
bulk of his own. This little girl was drawing him. He felt it, felt
himself yielding. He was beginning to look beyond the beautiful
features, the rare grace and charm of physical personality, which had
at first attracted only the baser qualities of his nature, and was
seeing glimpses of a spiritual something which lay back of all
that--infinitely more beautiful, unspeakably richer, divine, sacred,
untouchable.

"Of course you will attend the Charity Ball, Mr. Ames?" The thin voice
of Mrs. Hawley-Crowles jarred upon his ear like a shrill discord. Ames
turned savagely upon her. Then he quickly found himself again.

"No," he laughed harshly. "But I shall be represented by my family.
And you?" He looked at Carmen.

"Most assuredly," returned Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, taking the query to
herself. "That is, if my French dressmaker does not fail me. She is
dreadfully exasperating! What will Mrs. Am