empt at intellectual gymnastics which takes no
regard to the truth. I will not, therefore, weary you with a diatribe
upon the condition of that heterogeneous mass which is known to-day as
Society. I will simply point out to you one of the portents which has
inevitably heralded disaster. I mean the restless searching everywhere
for new things and new emotions. Our friend opposite," he said, bowing
to Saton, "will forgive me if I instance the almost passionate
interest in this new science which he is making brave efforts to give
to the world. A lecture to-day from Mr. Bertrand Saton would fill any
hall in London. And why? Simply because the people know that he will
speak to them of new things. Look at this man Father Cresswell. There
is no building in this great city which would hold the crowds who
flock to his meetings. And why? Simply because he has adopted a new
tone--because in place of the old methods, he stands in his pulpit
with a lash, and wields it like a Russian executioner."

Lady Mary interrupted him suddenly from her place a little way down
the table.

"Oh, I don't agree with you!" she said. "Indeed, I think you are
wrong. The reason why people go to hear Father Cresswell is not
because he has anything new to say, or any new way of saying it. The
real reason is because he has the gift of showing them the truth. You
can be told things very often, and receive a great many warnings, but
you take no notice. There is something wrong about the method of
delivering them. It is not the lash which Father Cresswell uses, but
it is his extraordinary gift of impressing one with the truth of what
he says, that has had such an effect upon everyone."

Rochester looked across at his wife curiously. It was almost the first
time that he had ever heard her speak upon a serious subject. Now he
came to think of it, he remembered that she had been spending much of
her time lately listening to this wonderful enthusiast. Was he really
great enough to have influenced so light a creature, he wondered?
Certainly there was something changed in her. He had noticed it during
the last few days--an odd sort of nervousness, a greater kindness of
speech, an unaccustomed gravity. Her remark set him thinking.

Chalmers leaned forward and bowed to Lady Mary. Again the shadow of a
tolerant smile rested upon his lips.

"Very well, Lady Mary," he said, "I will accept the truth of what you
say. Yet a few decades ago, who cared about religion, o