you ought to have nothing more
to do with him."

Erica's lips turned white with anger; but she answered, calmly:

"That is a very great accusation. How do you know it is true?"

"I know it well enough," said Mr. Fane-Smith. "Why, every one in England
knows it."

"If you accept mere hearsay evidence, you may believe anything of any
one. Have you ever read any of my father's books?"

"No."

"Or heard him lecture?"

"No, indeed; I would not hear him on any account."

"Have you ever spoken with any of his intimate friends?"

"Mr. Raeburn's acquaintances are not likely to mix with any one I should
know."

"Then," cried Erica, "how can you know anything whatever about him? And
how how DARE you say to me, his child, that he is a wicked man?"

"It is a matter of common notoriety."

"No," said Erica, "there you are wrong. It is notorious that my father
teaches conscientiously teaches much that we regard as error, but people
who openly accuse him of evil living find to their cost in the law
courts that they have foully libeled him."

She flushed even now at the thought of some of the hateful and wicked
accusations of the past. Then, after a moment's pause, she continued
more warmly:

"It is you people in society who get hold of some misquoted story, some
ridiculous libel long ago crushed at the cost of the libeler it is you
who do untold mischief! Only last summer I remember seeing in a paper
the truest sentence that was ever written of my father, and it was this,
'Probably no one man has ever had to endure such gross personal insults,
such widespread hostility, such perpetual calumny.' Why are you to judge
him? Even if you had a special call to it, how could you justly judge
him when you will not hear him, or know him, or fairly study his
writings, or question his friends? How can you know anything whatever
about him? Why, if he judged you and your party as you judge him, you
would be furious!"

"My dear, you speak with so much warmth; if you would only discuss
things calmly!" said Mr. Fane-Smith. "Remember what George Herbert
says: 'Calmness is a great advantage.' You bring too much feeling to the
discussion."

"How can I help feeling when you are slandering my father?" exclaimed
Erica. "I have tried to be calm, but there are limits to endurance!
Would you like Rose to sit silently while my father told her without any
ground that you were a wicked man?"

When matters were reversed in this crude way, Mr. F