e 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.

She was in one of her drawing rooms--the one that was decorated with
water colors set in fluted panels of yellow silk--not the one with the
pink blinds so beloved by those of her visitors who had reached an age
to regard a pink light as a woman's best friend. She was