e same way as
Langham's philosophical airs were wont to do. He was drawn without
knowing it into a match of wits wherein his strokes, if they lacked the
finish and subtlety of hers, showed certainly no lack of sharpness or
mental resource. Madame de Netteville's tone insensibly changed, her
manner quickened, her great eyes gradually unclosed.

Suddenly, as they were in the middle of a skirmish as to the reality of
influence, Madame de Netteville paradoxically maintaining that no human
being had ever really converted, transformed, or convinced another, the
voice of young Wishart, shrill and tremulous, rose above the general
level of talk.

'I am quite ready; I am not the least afraid of a definition. Theology
is organised knowledge in the field of religion, a science like any
other science!'

'Certainly, my dear sir, certainly,' said Mr. Spooner, leaning forward
with his hands round his knees, and speaking with the most elegant and
good-humoured _sangfroid_ imaginable, 'the science of the world's
ghosts! I cannot imagine any more fascinating.'

'Well,' said Madame de Netteville to Robert, with a deep breath, '_that_
was a remark to have hurled at you all at once out of doors on a
summer's afternoon! Oh, Mr. Spooner!' she said, raising her voice,
'don't play the heretic here! There is no fun in it; there are too many
with you.'

'I did not begin it, my dear madam, and your reproach is unjust. On one
side of me Archbishop Manning's _fidus Achates_,' and the speaker took
off his large straw hat and gracefully waved it--first to the right,
then to the left. 'On the other, the rector of the parish. "Cannon to
right of me, cannon to left of me." I submit my courage is
unimpeachable!'

He spoke with a smiling courtesy as excessive as his silky moustache,
his long straw-coloured beard, and his Panama hat. Madame de Netteville
surveyed him with cool critical eyes. Robert smiled slightly,
acknowledged the bow, but did not speak.

Mr. Wishart evidently took no heed of anything but his own thoughts. He
sat bolt upright with shining excited eyes.

'Ah, I remember that article of yours in the _Fortnightly_! How you
sceptics miss the point!'

And out came a stream of argument and denunciation which had probably
lain lava-hot at the heart of the young convert for years, waiting for
such a moment as this, when he had before him at close quarters two of
the most famous antagonists of his faith. The outburst was striking, but