was almost burdensome. It was a treat indeed to see and use beautiful
glass and china, and pleasant to have beautiful fruit and flowers to
look at, but Erica was a bohemian and hated stiff ceremony Her heart
failed her when she thought of sitting down night after night to such an
interminable meal. Worse still, she had taken a dislike to her host. Her
likes and dislikes were always characterized by Highland intensity, and
something in her aunt's husband seemed to rub her the wrong way. Mr.
Fane-Smith was a retired Indian judge, a man much respected in the
religious world, and in his way a really good man; but undoubtedly his
sympathies were narrow and his creed hard. Closely intwined with much
true and active Christianity, he had allowed to spring up a choking
overgrowth of hard criticism, of intolerance, of domineering dogmatism.
He was one of those men who go about the world, trying, not to find
points of union with all men, but ferreting out the most trifling points
of divergence. He did this with the best intentions, no doubt, but as
Erica's whole view of life, and of Christian life in particular, was the
direct opposite of his, their natures inevitably jarred.

She knew that it was foolish to expect every Christian household to be
equal to the Osmonds', but nevertheless a bitter sense of disappointment
stole over her that evening. Where was the sense of restful unity which
she had looked forward to? The new atmosphere felt strange, the new
order of life this luxurious easy life was hard to comprehend.

To add to her dislike Mr. Fane-Smith was something of an epicure and had
a most fastidious palate. Now, Erica's father thought scarcely anything
about what he ate it was indeed upon record that he had once in a fit
of absence dined upon a plate of scraps intended for Friskarina,
while engaged in some scientific discussion with the professor. Mr.
Fane-Smith, on the other hand, though convinced that the motto of all
atheists was "Let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die," criticized his
food almost as severely as he criticized human beings. The mulligatawny
was not to his taste. The curry was too not. He was sure the jelly
was made with that detestable stuff gelatine; he wished his wife would
forbid the cook to use it if she had seen old horses being led into a
gelatine manufactory as he had seen, she would be more particular.

Interspersed between these compliments was conversation which irritated
Erica even more. It