I thought perhaps it might interest
you--if you would care to glance over it."

Christine lay back in her chair, her face in shadow. But the lamplight
fell on her two hands. Red and misshapen as they were now, they were
still noble hands, and their repose had dignity and beauty.

"Won't you read it to us, Mr. Ricardo? My eyes are tired at night."

He cleared his throat.

"It is an answer to Bishop Crawford's recent letter to _The Times_, which
you may have seen. I have called it 'Unmasking the Oracle.'"

Robert leant out of the window and watched the sun sink into mist and
smoke. He wished Mr. Ricardo hadn't come; and that he would go away soon.
In a few minutes the light would begin to die, and the sharp black lines
of the roofs and spires, which on the ruins of their dull selves seemed to
be built anew into a witchlike fantastic city, would be lost to him for
another night. Robert did not want to hear about God and the origin of
man now. He kicked impatiently. Christine would sit up later than ever.
And, besides with Mr. Ricardo's voice rising and falling, growing shriller
and more passionate, one could not listen to that low, mysterious hum that
was so like a far-off music.

Mr. Ricardo made a sweeping, crushing gesture. "That, surely, settles the
controversy. He will hardly be able to answer that, I think."

Christine stirred, and opened her eyes, and smiled a little.

"I could not answer it, at any rate. It sounds very clever." She took
the paper from him and held it to the light, and Robert turned, hoping
that now he would really go. "But--but I didn't quite understand--have I
lost the place?--this is by E. T. Richards."

Then Robert saw an astonishing thing. Suddenly Mr. Ricardo seemed to
shrivel--to cower back into himself. His fierce, triumphant energy had
gone as at a blasting touch of magic. He looked ashamed and broken.

"A _nom de plume_--_a nom de guerre_, rather, Miss Forsyth--you
understand--in my opinion--the scholastic profession--the stronghold of
the worst bigotry and prejudice--for myself I should not care--I have
always wanted to come out into the open--but I have a sister--poor
girl!--a long, sad illness--for her sake--I can't afford----"

Christine folded the paper gently as though she were afraid of hurting it.

"Of course. It would be unwise--unnecessary. Why should one sacrifice
oneself to fight something that doesn't exist?"

He clenched his fists.

"One must